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Bloghttp://acevola.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)Blogger1229125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-6632811372992310248Sun, 02 Aug 2015 16:25:00 +00002015-08-02T11:25:00.202-05:00Italy and their Wine Debt to France<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FBTE4GC-7_A/Va5az5NDjkI/AAAAAAAAjdM/n8DwYPSA5mU/s1600/mona%2Blisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FBTE4GC-7_A/Va5az5NDjkI/AAAAAAAAjdM/n8DwYPSA5mU/s320/mona%2Blisa.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photograph by <a href="http://www.louvre.fr/">Pierre Jahan/Archives des museés nationaux</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span></span>or as long as I can remember there have been oblique encounters between Italophiles and Francophiles. In years past, it seemed there was always that expert in French wine who wanted to display his prodigious erudition for all to see. It was more oppressive than impressive.<br /><br />Recently the tides have turned. Barolo is the new Burgundy. Brunello is getting its groove on, and raincoated and umbrella’d Bordelaise sniffle and sneeze in response to their sunny Tuscan cousins. It’s a bit of a parlor game for the ruling class. <br /><br />My first foray in France was preceded by a harrowing road trip from Italy. Venice, Tuscany, Cinque Terre, all things bright and beautiful about Italy and wine were laid before me and I took the bait. And then I was dragged to Southern France.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8AyRgrYfL2w/Vb4-ljKpA3I/AAAAAAAAjpQ/Pxnjc5f1KAA/s1600/meat%2Bshop%2Bin%2Bavignon%2B1985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8AyRgrYfL2w/Vb4-ljKpA3I/AAAAAAAAjpQ/Pxnjc5f1KAA/s400/meat%2Bshop%2Bin%2Bavignon%2B1985.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>All those years, hearing stories from French collectors and sommeliers (the ones with the dangling tastevins) I had a totally different idea about what to expect. When I got there, I thought, “Wait, these people aren’t that different from the Italians I just left. They appear to like cheese a bit more. But what’s the big deal?”<br /><br />And I’ve been saying that (to myself) going on 30 years now. <br /><br />My field research, not at all scientific, has shown to me that the French and the Italians, in the vineyards, have a lot more in common than not. They work as hard. They have the same concerns, about their government, their religion, their money, their children, their mortality. <br /><br />Yes, their wines are a little different. But really, not so much as I had been led to believe, early on, by those important people. Mind you, never did I get that impression from any of my French colleagues in the wine world. Never. It was always from the outside, from someone who wanted to appear as "important" and "serious" about their wine connoisseurship. <br /><br />That said, I’ve been thinking the Italians have a debt to the French. I’m not sure they can ever repay it. I don’t think it’s that kind of deal. But I believe it’s worthwhile to ponder over a few of high spots.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EbVgyGBWZSE/Vb47yGcmFAI/AAAAAAAAjpA/vJz00iMUMFs/s1600/man%2Bin%2Btunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EbVgyGBWZSE/Vb47yGcmFAI/AAAAAAAAjpA/vJz00iMUMFs/s400/man%2Bin%2Btunnel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The appeal of beauty is universal. If one makes a beautiful wine, does it really know any boundaries? Beauty is. The French and the Italians, in my experience, take pleasure in beautiful things. And by the looks of it, in fashion, in art, in music, in food, beautiful things between these two countries flow back and forth, not stopping to have their passports stamped. <br /><br />Because of that, if the French make something more beautiful, the Italians notice. And some of them are motivated by that. Is it a competitive thing? Is it jealousy? Is it inspiration? Who cares, if more beauty comes from it.<br /><br />Let’s talk about competition. Have you ever sat down at a table with a gaggle of winemakers? What do they do? Well, if there’s food and wine on it, they do the same as the rest of the folks on earth. They eat and drink. They also appreciate, in measures. Again, this is my experience. I don’t care who it is, from wherever in the world. There’s always the chance to learn something and take it back to the workshop of course. But the aspect of pleasure and community supersedes any competitive urge. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aVsi0LTi2Oo/Vb5AQ9eLfbI/AAAAAAAAjpc/GaMaw2dUnbk/s1600/2%2Bdoors%2BB%2526W%2Btuscany.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aVsi0LTi2Oo/Vb5AQ9eLfbI/AAAAAAAAjpc/GaMaw2dUnbk/s400/2%2Bdoors%2BB%2526W%2Btuscany.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Stewardship. Whether it be art or potatoes, are the French not great stewards? Of the vine, in the fields, they live with Nature in the same way Italians do. They understand resources are finite. And when it comes to precious things, like water, like soil, like great art, they don’t appear to want to save only things French. I haven’t made a huge study of this, but I have seen enough interplay in winemaking circles to see the ongoing dialogue and collaboration. Imagine, two countries, which at this time produce roughly half of all the world’s wine. Why wouldn’t they work together? The reality is, they do. More than we know. And definitely more than the snotty oenophiles of old ever realized.<br /><br />A million years, ago, I’m driving an elderly French winemaker, a student of Emile Peynaud, to an experimental vineyard in far North Texas. He wanted to see the place where some of the rootstock was born, rootstock which helped save France from the scourge of phylloxera. On the way there we were talking about my family roots and he mentioned that he had many good friends in the wine industry in Sicily. I knew that there was a connection between Palermo and France, historically. But I asked him why. “Oh, we did a lot of business with the Sicilians. Grapes, finished wine. Mainly for Vermouth production.” How many years have we been drinking French wine not knowing there was a little Italian DNA inside those bottles? Didn’t seem to bother us. I once told that story to one of those tastevin-swaggering olde-school sommeliers. He dismissed it saying, “Bah, bulk crap for the peasants!”<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-VrJ2lhz-w/Vb47yKMLGZI/AAAAAAAAjo8/1MM-ovLRK2Y/s1600/women%2Bin%2Bsculpture%2Barea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-VrJ2lhz-w/Vb47yKMLGZI/AAAAAAAAjo8/1MM-ovLRK2Y/s320/women%2Bin%2Bsculpture%2Barea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Looking back, the Italian wine we make now, so much of it is better, for so many reasons. And in no small part, because the French influence was there. Yes, but also because of collaboration, the sharing of ideas and thoughtful husbandry.<br /><br />I know many of my readers are in France, can tell when I look at who is coming to these pages. Inquisitive nature doesn’t stop at any border. Wine travels without a visa. Beauty sails through customs.<br /><br />Thank you France and thank you my French colleagues, for your work and for your care. Because you do what you do that way you do it, Italy is a better place. And, I’m sure the Italians would also remark the inverse is also correct. And they would also be correct. You’re both on top of the wine world, high-fiving one another. And the wine world is richer for your continued efforts.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XiSnoc6jc88/Vb5ChIflHzI/AAAAAAAAjpo/WmYWunOEJLw/s1600/DSC_5177%2Bsunshine%2Bin%2Ba%2Bglass%2Bbw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XiSnoc6jc88/Vb5ChIflHzI/AAAAAAAAjpo/WmYWunOEJLw/s400/DSC_5177%2Bsunshine%2Bin%2Ba%2Bglass%2Bbw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed<i> (with the exception of the first photograph)</i> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/08/italy-and-their-wine-debt-to-france.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-5031456987664571539Sun, 26 Jul 2015 18:25:00 +00002015-07-26T21:49:43.736-05:00Sardegna and wine - a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpCUXh9ffiE/VbUhSIVFgNI/AAAAAAAAjfg/e7YjEr5pSHo/s1600/SAM_2411sm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpCUXh9ffiE/VbUhSIVFgNI/AAAAAAAAjfg/e7YjEr5pSHo/s320/SAM_2411sm.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">B</span></span>y chance, I’m sitting in a restaurant and nearby me is a table of four. Urban dwellers, well-traveled, by the looks of their garb and little snippets of conversation that float into the dining room for all to hear. One in the group starts talking about wine and Italy. The usual suspects are cited – Rome, Florence, Venice, The Amalfi Coast, Cinque Terre. And then someone mentions Costa Smeralda in Sardegna. By this time the wine has been flowing, social lubrication amplifies the voices and one in the group states, for all to hear, “I love the Costa Smeralda, the beaches are great, the seafood holds a candle to no one and the people are friendly. But honestly, I don’t get Sardinian wine.” <br /><br />It was one of those moments. In a busy dining room it was as if time had stood still. A conversational lull in the room had occurred at that time, and the last statement, “I don’t get Sardinian wine” bellowed throughout the room and careened off the walls. Had the wine gods issued a dispatch? <br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3lasIZMAOxE/VbUlNHRNbJI/AAAAAAAAjgg/XEV56SvrQko/s1600/DSC_2985sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3lasIZMAOxE/VbUlNHRNbJI/AAAAAAAAjgg/XEV56SvrQko/s400/DSC_2985sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Moments later, the room returned to normal, the tiramisu and volcano cakes arrived and the table was on to the subject of Turkey and whether Istanbul or Izmir were the better destination. And I, as well, settled back into conversation at my table and didn’t give Sardegna any further thought.<br /><br />Days, even weeks later, the subject of Sardegna and their wines came up in a conversation among friends. I recalled that moment in the restaurant, almost by chance, as we were also talking about how Italian desserts in America had become a bit of a caricature lately. It was if the gods were pulling me back into the “I don’t get Sardinian wine” discussion. And quite honestly, it’s not as if I haven’t wrestled, from time to time, with this region, their people and ultimately the wines.<br /><br />In the many years I have been going to Italy, I have been everywhere. Except Sardegna. And I love islands. Been to Pantellaria twice. Salina twice as well. And Sicily too many times to recall. But Sardegna, for some reason that boat has passed me by.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hPgFlUu3btM/VbUhRsXqO0I/AAAAAAAAjfY/1I62wn4JfY8/s1600/SAM_2398sm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hPgFlUu3btM/VbUhRsXqO0I/AAAAAAAAjfY/1I62wn4JfY8/s320/SAM_2398sm.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>For one, I’d like to go with someone who really knows the island. Not a canned tour. The language is different; the customs are foreign to me. As one of my mainland friends once said, “Those islanders, they’re different.” <br /><br />Those islanders, they’re different – four words that mean so much and so little at the same time. It recalls that oft quoted phrase, “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” From where I perch, Sardegna is all of that.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gOQrXfh6xp8/VbUjv59TcVI/AAAAAAAAjgU/FG_c30-S6TY/s1600/SAM_2567sm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gOQrXfh6xp8/VbUjv59TcVI/AAAAAAAAjgU/FG_c30-S6TY/s320/SAM_2567sm.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And I think that is an apt description of the wines. Whereas Sicily is a cornucopia of flavors and styles, the Sardinian wine that does escape the island and come to other ports seems restricted and even more conservative. One or two red grapes and one or two white. Maybe three. Sicily and most of the South have this varied palette of grapes and flavors, maybe too many, maybe too confusing to the average Joe. But exciting and interesting to those of us who see it as an adventure, not a chore. I like the diversity. But I don’t see that in wines from Sardegna, in my experience. I see a little of the Tuscan influence, but is that a good thing? Again, this is a view from a distance. I’m not issuing an indictment against all wines from Sardegna; perhaps I, as well, don’t get Sardinian wines.<br /><br />I know from people who come from there that there is wildness to the island that time hasn’t eroded. There is also the fact that parts of Sardegna are the playground of the billionaire club. Perhaps for those folks, a Super Tuscan or a wine made in Sardegna by an important Tuscan producer is the perfect complement to a day at the beach followed by a platter of roasted meats. I’m willing to see the benefits to having a scenario like this. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ya1LWuUkUFU/VbUhRZEx0rI/AAAAAAAAjfU/n2Dwa7rYsUk/s1600/SAM_2407sm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ya1LWuUkUFU/VbUhRZEx0rI/AAAAAAAAjfU/n2Dwa7rYsUk/s320/SAM_2407sm.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I guess what I am saying is that I need to take a look, a bit closer and deeper, and see for myself, if there is something about the wines of Sardegna that can be, to me, as compelling as the wines from Sicily, from Campania, or anywhere in the South. <br /><br />Maybe one of my next trips to Italy should include Sardegna. I’ll keep an ear to the ground for possible communiqués from the wine gods. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8KSaudFogeU/VbUjvh2UFyI/AAAAAAAAjf8/W9T3xsH1FOc/s1600/jug%2Bholder.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8KSaudFogeU/VbUjvh2UFyI/AAAAAAAAjf8/W9T3xsH1FOc/s400/jug%2Bholder.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/07/sardegna-and-wine-riddle-wrapped-in.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-2603913829069342796Mon, 20 Jul 2015 02:38:00 +00002015-07-20T05:41:28.997-05:00Radici del SudHidden Calabria and the dawn of a new day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KKQ-9osDpSo/VavetVRQeYI/AAAAAAAAjbc/xHVeylQJvAI/s1600/Calabria%2Bvineyard%2Bsite%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KKQ-9osDpSo/VavetVRQeYI/AAAAAAAAjbc/xHVeylQJvAI/s400/Calabria%2Bvineyard%2Bsite%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span></span>eral, untouched, wild, unknown – Calabria is a wine frontier. Long passed over by wine connoisseurs in favor of Piedmont and Tuscany, Calabria is part of the grand excuse people make for not getting into Italian wine more because “they are just too complicated and unpredictable.” And those folks have a point – wines from Calabria are not for the conventional set - they require an open and adventurous spirit. But for those who delve into the dark heart of southern Italy, there are some amazing wines awaiting you.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I8LKDtc4FS4/VaxYYPHFqCI/AAAAAAAAjcc/0VFqpIxY84A/s1600/ciro%2Bcalabretta1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I8LKDtc4FS4/VaxYYPHFqCI/AAAAAAAAjcc/0VFqpIxY84A/s400/ciro%2Bcalabretta1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I came across two wineries in Bari last month at Radici del Sud. The first winery, <a href="http://www.cataldocalabretta.it/home_en.html" target="_blank">Calabretta</a> (not to be confused with the Sicilian winery of the same name). My first foray with their wines was a dry rosato of Gaglioppo grapes. Richly colored, not bleached and anemic. No, this one is rosy-cheeked and well-tanned. But sleek and thin it isn’t. This is a wine with meat on the bones and flavors that bring out the natural side of the Calabrian countryside. Indigenous yeasts, organically farmed. Calabria, once a dumping ground for chemicals and international varieties, pushed for large quantities. Not this time. <br /><br />These are wines to savor, as I did for several nights. Living in a warm region of the United States, I look for wine to be refreshing and to also go with the spicier foods we eat in the Southwest. July isn’t always the best time for a Nebbiolo from the Langhe or a Cabernet/Merlot blend from Bordeaux or Napa Valley. And while I love and appreciate those wines, I’m looking to go deeper into Italy and her wines. I’m not wary of the byzantine nature of wines in Italy. I relish it. Maybe that’s the way I’m wired. While I can love wines from France or California and the subtle intricacies of wine from Italy’s lesser known regions pose a welcoming challenge to me. What’s there? What’s interesting? What can I bring back? Who can I share it with?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--2srI7eg9io/VaxYovAjyWI/AAAAAAAAjcs/NdQaM2Y-hCI/s1600/comerci%2Bman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--2srI7eg9io/VaxYovAjyWI/AAAAAAAAjcs/NdQaM2Y-hCI/s400/comerci%2Bman.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The other winery, <a href="http://www.casacomerci.it/" target="_blank">Casa Comerci</a>, makes a red and a rosato from an obscure grape called Magliocco Canino. My southern Italian expert, Ole Udsen, tells me it is not related to the Magliocco grape. Cesare Petracca at Comerci is part of an informal group of Calabrese terroiristi who are embracing their obscurity which I believe has started a little revolution in the South. The Magliocco Canino, also minimal intervention in the winemaking, is like a rabbit hole. You just fall in and go deeper and deeper, discovering an unwritten history of wine as a result. Ole tells me stories of going to the pork butchers of Spilonga, known as porcara, in search of the ultimate ‘nduja. A kind of a holy grail exists among American salumeristi’s, who put ‘nduja on a pedestal similar to foie gras. Cesare Petracca showed his wines with the ‘nduja he (and Ole) believe is from the best porcara in Spilonga. With their rosato, it was a revelation.<br /><br />I cannot imagine anyone using the excuse of “Italian wines are too complicated” to forgo having this singular kind of experience. Where on earth can one go and turn back the clock a couple hundred years to experience eating and drinking like our great-great-great grandparents did? It’s time travel that is possible, achievable and delicious. Let me see, a wine cellar full of classified growths or an experience like this? Count me in for door number two. To an outsider, Calabria, with their particular ways, their language and their unconventional customs can be intimidating. The touristification of Italy has created a country where the old ways are receding into the dust bin of history. Southern Italy gives the bold traveler a glimpse back into that old world. The people are genuine, the weather is fabulous and the foods are unlike anywhere else in Italy. The wines deserve a look and a taste. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kI0BEFuCeNc/VavfpfRfLaI/AAAAAAAAjbw/8OHuvst2fBo/s1600/SAM_6829%2Blibrandi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kI0BEFuCeNc/VavfpfRfLaI/AAAAAAAAjbw/8OHuvst2fBo/s400/SAM_6829%2Blibrandi.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>These two wineries are a good place to start. They weren’t the first; they didn’t pioneer a greater understanding of wine from Calabria like Librandi did. For that, I believe we all owe the Librandi family a great debt (a future post will cover an amazing 20 year vertical of Duca Sanfelice Ciro Rosso Riserva I conducted at Radici del Sud). Calabretta and Comerci are an outgrowth of something that began many years ago, but now their efforts are coming to light. I like these wines a lot. They’re wholesome, they’re interesting and they are well integrated with the culture and the food from which they come. We talk about genuine a lot in the world of wine. These wines embody that character. And they are imminently enjoyable. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>In other news - ♫ Will you still need me, will you still read me? ♫</i></b><br /><br />This weekend I passed over a personal landmark in time. Whoever thought back then, those of us reading who were alive then, that the day would come? Well, it has. Come and gone. But hopefully, my voice and the peculiar annotations to life still bring some value to the time you, dear readers, expend while perusing these posts. Some say wine blogging is dead - I say some of us have enlarged our world beyond to those things that make wine such a joy in an integrated life. In any case, thank you for coming and for coming back, all these years, if for no reason other than to check in and see if the heart is still beating. Yes, the beat goes on and on and on the wine trail in Italy.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lfc3EiJ1x18/VaxbwXO8PNI/AAAAAAAAjc4/SmZX-W7JvD4/s1600/sheer%2Bcurtain%2Bin%2Bfront%2Bof%2Bforest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lfc3EiJ1x18/VaxbwXO8PNI/AAAAAAAAjc4/SmZX-W7JvD4/s400/sheer%2Bcurtain%2Bin%2Bfront%2Bof%2Bforest.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/07/hidden-calabria-and-dawn-of-new-day.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-3436591521952011984Sun, 12 Jul 2015 22:23:00 +00002015-07-13T14:38:16.874-05:00The California Drought Report: Déjà vu and other ramblings while driving on the Silverado Trail at midnight.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8uOPyTJwwVQ/VaLi8JmA6GI/AAAAAAAAjRw/_2nXbIai-0k/s1600/square%2Bvineyard%2Bscene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8uOPyTJwwVQ/VaLi8JmA6GI/AAAAAAAAjRw/_2nXbIai-0k/s320/square%2Bvineyard%2Bscene.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span>t was déjà vu. The tinderbox conditions we were sitting in must have made it seem like it. It was an early summer night, just like before. And there was the same warm breeze that cooled as the sun disappeared behind the mountain range. We were sitting outside at the restaurant attached to the Solage resort in Calistoga. And the subject of the drought came up. I made the comment that it seemed a lot like 1976, which was the first of two drought years that produced some good wines. “I remember being here; the conditions seem the same.” A guest at our table asked me what Solage was like 40 years ago. “I wouldn't know. I was parked nearby in a lot near the fairgrounds; my wife was 6 months pregnant and she and I and her daughter were sleeping in the <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2009/07/anniversary.html" target="_blank">‘62 Falcon wagon</a>, hoping not to be awakened in the middle of the night by the local police.” A stretch from the luxe setting of Solage.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />Sipping on an old-vine dry-farmed Zinfandel grown steps from our table; a pleasant wine, balanced, even at 15.4%. My mind wandered back and forth between 1976 and now. How much had changed. Talking a few days later with Dante Mondavi about it, and how simple and un-self-aware we all were. Now, it is recollected as a golden time.<br /><br />Later in the week, sitting at a posh bar in St. Helena, sipping on a magnum of 2011 Mayacamas Chardonnay, visiting with a local writer/sommelier friend. Again clocks turn back. Mayacamas seemed to be holding steady; acid, fruit, citrus, balance. My young friend asks, “Do you think we’ll ever get back to a time when the young wine professionals won’t aspire to be rock star sommeliers and we’ll actually see people embracing a more academic approach?” It appears more than one generation is weary of a world of wine being hijacked by arrogance and egotism; was this what the wine gods had in mind?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K-goee1Agbs/VaLi7NC37eI/AAAAAAAAjRs/96KhQ02CSHo/s1600/pinot%2Bnoir%2Bin%2Blineup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K-goee1Agbs/VaLi7NC37eI/AAAAAAAAjRs/96KhQ02CSHo/s320/pinot%2Bnoir%2Bin%2Blineup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Earlier that day, tasting some very presentable Pinot Noir from Russian River with the winemaker- his recollection of Robert Parker tasting with him: “He’d tasted through the line-up and then he came back to the third one and said, ‘That North Slope is so consistently good, year in and year out.’” They were tasting blind. Robert Parker may be dead to the young generation of wine-abee rockers, but he’s far from that in the mind of these producers. He still sells more wine than all of our blogs, podcasts and tirades put together. And his memory, and his palate, still matters. Don’t deceive yourself. <br /><br />A winemaker walks over to me and my writer/sommelier friend. He started a little project in the Carneros ten years ago. He just got back from tasting with “Bob”, a ten year retrospective of his wines. “He didn’t know me from Adam and he came up to me years ago, in this very spot and asked who the winemaker was. I said ‘why, did you like the wine? Because if you did, I was the winemaker. If you didn’t, the guy next to me made it.’” A simpler time, yes. Crush the grapes, make the wine, sell it, hopefully with a little help from an appreciative chef or a wine scribe. And do it again. And again. No pyrotechnics. No screeds posted to the door of the cathedral ( or Facebook page). Just the work. Over and over and over again.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnnND_-tGqM/VaLi6drcSAI/AAAAAAAAjRY/yTjKZqixYqk/s1600/dry%2Bcalifornia%2Bscene%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnnND_-tGqM/VaLi6drcSAI/AAAAAAAAjRY/yTjKZqixYqk/s400/dry%2Bcalifornia%2Bscene%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Earlier that week, on a long afternoon drive up the Silverado Trail, on the way to see another wine, another winemaker, I thought about <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2014/11/pippo-we-hardly-knew-ye-in-memory-of.html" target="_blank">Philip di Belardino</a>. Before lunch, sitting with a friend who writes and educates the bewildered about Italian wine and she brought him up. “I remember first meeting him. He was such a good ambassador,” she recalled. “And two or three years later, he came across me at a tasting, stopped what he was doing, addressed me by name and asked how I was doing!” Today we think it’s a miracle when someone "important" returns an email (some of them don’t). Pippo knew he was a player in the band, not the soloist. He didn’t aspire to stardom, but his <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-last-parmigiana.html" target="_blank">compassion and his love for people and wine </a>will be remembered long after the delectable superstars have posted their umpteenth unicorn wine. And I will miss his emails, much more than the emails that never get replied to.<br /><br />There’s a rough edge that’s made its way into the wine-stream. A young writer writes a good piece about an offbeat wine region. A friend, the world expert on the subject, makes an observation about the piece and gets head chewed off by the now-defensive author. What, 5,000 followers on Instagram make one bulletproof? And when one with expertise patiently and courteously elaborates, what is said author’s reply? Crickets... <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PPb7vaHAAY/VaLi5L147HI/AAAAAAAAjRA/348m5vLv-dc/s1600/crushed%2Bgrapes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PPb7vaHAAY/VaLi5L147HI/AAAAAAAAjRA/348m5vLv-dc/s320/crushed%2Bgrapes.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>Sure, it’s not like the days, as I was telling Dante, when you could roll your ’62 Falcon next to the Benny Bufano sculpture and moments later be sipping Fum<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span> Blanc with Nonno Bob, as plain and natural as a sunny day in St. Helena. Yeah, I miss the innocence and the restraint, both in the wines and in the egos of that time. We could sure use a bigger dose of 1976 than just the arid dearth of moisture. We could use a couple of amphorae filled with humility and deference. Like the Carneros winemaker said, “it’s just crushed grapes.” Considering the nearest galaxy, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udAL48P5NJU" target="_blank">Andromeda</a>, where there are 1 trillion stars,what’s 9,000 twitter followers? Put in the scale of this limitless universe, that should easily recalibrate a thoughtful person. Perhaps we should concern ourselves less with pursuing <a href="http://www.timgaiser.com/blog/op-ed" target="_blank">balance in our wines</a> and focus more putting our selfie-obsessed lives in perspective. Yes, it’s just a bunch of crushed grapes. But as well, the span of our life, shouldn’t it mean something more than a collection of photographs of wine bottles, of opinions about this or that style of wine? Why do we care about a 30 year retrospective of Solaia or Gaja? How about arriving to a more humble seat in the orchestra, maybe the third violin or the fourth oboe? Isn’t the music sweeter when everyone plays their notes at the right time in the right place?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TvkoTWUcBbs/VaLi8SQn-II/AAAAAAAAjSA/ZesDYsi9cC4/s1600/squash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TvkoTWUcBbs/VaLi8SQn-II/AAAAAAAAjSA/ZesDYsi9cC4/s320/squash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Yeah, we could sure use some rain, all around…<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEs5JLuqSPQ/VaLi4njE7qI/AAAAAAAAjQ8/cbjhWeLlG10/s1600/calm%2Bdog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEs5JLuqSPQ/VaLi4njE7qI/AAAAAAAAjQ8/cbjhWeLlG10/s400/calm%2Bdog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> <br /><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-california-drought-report-deja-vu.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-2791883325451484998Mon, 06 Jul 2015 02:50:00 +00002015-07-05T21:50:12.684-05:00A little bit of Americana for our friends in Italy<i>A pictorial journey through West Texas on July 4th weekend</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HhzRK4Ohr_k/VZnmtL-SY8I/AAAAAAAAjHY/mN58ZF4G_U8/s1600/wagon%2Band%2Bcows%2Bbuff%2Bgap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HhzRK4Ohr_k/VZnmtL-SY8I/AAAAAAAAjHY/mN58ZF4G_U8/s400/wagon%2Band%2Bcows%2Bbuff%2Bgap.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></span>hree weeks ago, I was sitting in a basement in Bari judging Italian wine made from any number of indigenous grapes. Today, I’m in West Texas, eating chicken fried steak and drinking Prosecco. Life is strange, ain’t it? But for my Italian friends, these past few days are the kind of experience I know many of them would give their I-teeth for. Imagine a 4th of July weekend in West Texas. For some it might seem foreboding. But it all depends on who you’re hanging with.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MpK4fIHPqgE/VZnot4JdsFI/AAAAAAAAjIc/WmV3OAB01vs/s1600/boy%2Band%2Bflag%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MpK4fIHPqgE/VZnot4JdsFI/AAAAAAAAjIc/WmV3OAB01vs/s400/boy%2Band%2Bflag%2B1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The occasion was the birthday of America and also Dallas cheese maven, Paula Lambert. Along with one of her best friends, chef Stephan Pyles, arrangements were made to caravan to Big Spring, Texas, for a wine and food (and music and dance) weekend in Stephan’s childhood town.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_f-5dLFXBdA/VZno1G0YRHI/AAAAAAAAjLI/bNmTVzUfpDQ/s1600/ranch%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_f-5dLFXBdA/VZno1G0YRHI/AAAAAAAAjLI/bNmTVzUfpDQ/s400/ranch%2B1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Big Spring wasn’t exactly on my bucket list. But West Texas is another country altogether. I’m fascinated with the bigger-than-life panoramas. And after a wet spring, the normally tinderbox dry desert landscape was April shower green. And the weather, a light breeze, dry and not too hot, made it easy to stay outside.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QdxzZtkbVE4/VZnnCdocFBI/AAAAAAAAjHg/kELrXbez5uU/s1600/paula%2Band%2BBecky%2B_%2Brose%2Bwine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QdxzZtkbVE4/VZnnCdocFBI/AAAAAAAAjHg/kELrXbez5uU/s320/paula%2Band%2BBecky%2B_%2Brose%2Bwine.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>So what about it would my Italian friends like? For one, most of the wine we had was Italian. We drank dark rosé wines from Apulia and Abruzzo, crisp whites from Piedmont and the Maremma and juicy reds from Umbria, Piedmont and Tuscany. West Texas food, this time of the year, can be anything from smoked salmon to pork ribs, multigrain salads, gazpacho, fried chicken and of course, chicken fried steak. And all the wines we had went exceedingly well with the food.<br /><br /><b>Highlights of the trip</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nPO39TRfbEM/VZnp2EFpq_I/AAAAAAAAjLU/BFPwUz3UAvc/s1600/SETTLES.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nPO39TRfbEM/VZnp2EFpq_I/AAAAAAAAjLU/BFPwUz3UAvc/s320/SETTLES.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The Hotel Settles in Big Spring. A recent $30 million dollar renovation makes this a must stop on the road from Dallas to Big Bend. When it was finished a few months after the stock market crash of 1929, it was the tallest building between Ft. Worth and El Paso and could be seen miles away. The place is a little gem among the austere landscape of West Texas. A welcoming (and quite cool) swimming pool where one can relax and catch a few West Texas sun rays, working on the summer tan y’all. Good food, good beds, great air conditioning and a perfect place to camp for the weekend.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJax-OvY05U/VZnoHOwCU2I/AAAAAAAAjH4/l78S9thYZC4/s1600/band%2Band%2Bfireworks%2Bbetter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJax-OvY05U/VZnoHOwCU2I/AAAAAAAAjH4/l78S9thYZC4/s320/band%2Band%2Bfireworks%2Bbetter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Fireworks in Big Spring. I’m not a flag waving patriotic kind of American. But I do enjoy national holidays with a good mix of Americans. Big Spring surely isn’t the prototypical "whites only" place it once was. The evening was a great gathering of music, patriotism and respect for our many men and women (of all colors) who have served our country. And of course, some killer fireworks.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JHPxb4S2jOg/VZnocsTNNyI/AAAAAAAAjIA/mkTRK6ByBWc/s1600/keith%2Bbetter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JHPxb4S2jOg/VZnocsTNNyI/AAAAAAAAjIA/mkTRK6ByBWc/s400/keith%2Bbetter.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>There’s nothing quite like listening to the local symphony belting out Aaron Copeland’s Hoedown while the skies rained with pyrotechnic displays. Yeah, it’s a little over the top – but it brings out the little kid in each of us. Good stuff.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-coMUHtBl9E4/VZnovulJQyI/AAAAAAAAjI8/hfwAkVQI0_4/s1600/circular%2Bsettee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-coMUHtBl9E4/VZnovulJQyI/AAAAAAAAjI8/hfwAkVQI0_4/s320/circular%2Bsettee.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_t_fSFzXcBY/VZno0b2IzhI/AAAAAAAAjKI/RfapU40EXec/s1600/pond%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_t_fSFzXcBY/VZno0b2IzhI/AAAAAAAAjKI/RfapU40EXec/s400/pond%2B1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />A visit to an iconic ranch – one of Stephan’s childhood friends has a lovely ranch out near Forsan, Texas. The place is rich in oil, historically, and cattle ranching. And the home, lovingly built, stone by stone, by Mexican immigrants who got stuck there in the late 1800’s and had nowhere to go. So they hunkered down, and built a home for the ages. A pond Monet would die for, a house filled with any number of personal touches, so achingly dear that to leave the place was painful.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WHFOwQrQNOE/VZnowH6lm3I/AAAAAAAAjJA/AHk86s5aIcg/s1600/cobbler.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WHFOwQrQNOE/VZnowH6lm3I/AAAAAAAAjJA/AHk86s5aIcg/s320/cobbler.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And the food, Stephan and his team did so many wonderful dishes, perfect for the time and the wines. But the cobbler, along with homemade ice cream, that was the inevitable gut-buster. I wouldn’t do anything different the second time around.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_DkmJA0fmss/VZnmZMuDo1I/AAAAAAAAjHQ/zNAiP7tFHc8/s1600/tryptic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_DkmJA0fmss/VZnmZMuDo1I/AAAAAAAAjHQ/zNAiP7tFHc8/s400/tryptic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Last night, though, the piece de resistance was our very own hoedown at a honky-tonk, The Stampede Dance Hall. Ours for the night, complete with Dave Alexander and his Texas Swing Band, and plenty of room on the dance floor. Sitting there under the breeze of a swamp cooler, sipping on a dry Cerasuolo from Abruzzo and listening to Bob Will’s music. Outside the rocket’s red glare (from the firework display) - that pretty much nails down my idea of Heaven in America. And for my Italian friends, I lapped it up like a fool, thinking about what you what be thinking, doing, if you were here. Most of you, I know, would be on the dance floor.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJdb-h7Ng7w/VZnovI7prCI/AAAAAAAAjIw/Wolq1MJh7Hc/s1600/chicken%2Bfried%2Bsteak.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJdb-h7Ng7w/VZnovI7prCI/AAAAAAAAjIw/Wolq1MJh7Hc/s400/chicken%2Bfried%2Bsteak.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AzvARmr_0Pc/VZnouvb6KKI/AAAAAAAAjIs/Zvf-FNjBqmQ/s1600/cake%2Bshot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AzvARmr_0Pc/VZnouvb6KKI/AAAAAAAAjIs/Zvf-FNjBqmQ/s400/cake%2Bshot.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And the icing on the cake, literally, was Sunday brunch at Perini Ranch Steak House in Buffalo Gap, Texas. Perini, that’s Italian, yes? That and the mascarpone in the cake and the Prosecco. But all the rest is 110% Americana.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BOpnU5R6Yzg/VZnouSFW0FI/AAAAAAAAjJk/Ns2L-eOBW7o/s1600/byob.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BOpnU5R6Yzg/VZnouSFW0FI/AAAAAAAAjJk/Ns2L-eOBW7o/s400/byob.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Some see us, come take the ride, spend some time, eat under the stars, dance in a honky-tonk and fall in love with an America everyone can feel good about. We’ll save a place for you at the table – family style, y’all - and that ain't no bull. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_pRATYCv4WI/VZnoyPGwCII/AAAAAAAAjJo/hRTDVUKVxLw/s1600/longhorn%2Bsteer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_pRATYCv4WI/VZnoyPGwCII/AAAAAAAAjJo/hRTDVUKVxLw/s400/longhorn%2Bsteer.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed (in West Texas) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/07/a-little-bit-of-americana-for-our.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-5180049625522083432Sun, 28 Jun 2015 16:53:00 +00002015-06-29T09:46:30.767-05:00Radici del SudLucania ~ As I See It <i>From the Radici del Sud notebook</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FYN-__TrhNc/VZAgRkPSBvI/AAAAAAAAia8/mIayfS3o-ug/s1600/chair%2Bin%2Bsassi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FYN-__TrhNc/VZAgRkPSBvI/AAAAAAAAia8/mIayfS3o-ug/s400/chair%2Bin%2Bsassi.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span></span>orget anything you know about Basilicata and Southern Italy. Disregard anyone telling you this is the poorest region in all of Italy. What I’m about to tell you, I hope, will change what and how you think about this region and the South. <br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />There is an Italy that is still wild, that cannot be subdued by organized crime or disorganized government, and where few tourists venture. Basilicata, when I am in it, I look around and wonder why it took me so long to get back here. The vistas are broad and dramatic, the history is long and the people, well, they are some of the most interesting Italians I have ever met. There is an aura of fierce independence conjoined with a mystical, almost feral nature in the Lucanians. Time is measured by the beat of a metronome that one does not find in the rest of Italy. You have to be there&nbsp; ̶&nbsp; inside&nbsp; ̶&nbsp; to experience what I am telling you.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bEHWyWn_g90/VZAh6nkwRxI/AAAAAAAAibU/9zNnVbexuhM/s1600/angel%2Bwith%2Bgrapes_Matera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bEHWyWn_g90/VZAh6nkwRxI/AAAAAAAAibU/9zNnVbexuhM/s400/angel%2Bwith%2Bgrapes_Matera.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Yes, of course, this is not an easy place. Come here in the winter and find out for yourself. The wind is piercing, the cold is numbing, the fragility of life, your life, can be exposed in a moment’s notice. It is also invigorating, to put oneself on the edge, and to challenge one’s sense of a place. These are conditions with which the humans, the animals and the plants steer their lives. Here is where Aglianico, not Nebbiolo, not Sangiovese, not Pinot Noir, thrives. Aglianico. Tough as nails place to live? Impoverished? Off limits? To a vine, it’s Paradise. Or, at worst, Purgatory with a good chance for redemption.<br /><br />All of Southern Italy falls under the protection of the Goddess. In many places now she is called Maria. But Her energy transcends the polytheistic, monotheistic and reason. Her metric cannot be gauged; one won’t find it with a spread sheet, a compass or a calculator. Find it with your beating heart. Lucania is the Mother Lode. Everywhere you look, Her guiding hand is there. In the sky, in the water, in the wheat fields, in the eyes of the animals. Does this frighten you? Does this sound a little too pagan for you? Or does this touch something deep inside of you that has long been sublimated? Come to this region and find out. Get in touch with your feminine side. Immerse yourself in a still strong matriarchal culture.<br /><br />No matter how you slice this amazingly hard-crusted bread, there is a wellspring of spirituality here, untouched by the selfie-stick seller of Rome, the bus driver of Verona or the cashier of Eataly. Come, and see.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sCDYrYgWrcY/VZAbWQAQknI/AAAAAAAAiZ8/SOegwU3QgyI/s1600/Basilicata_Lucania_landscape%2BJune%2B1015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sCDYrYgWrcY/VZAbWQAQknI/AAAAAAAAiZ8/SOegwU3QgyI/s400/Basilicata_Lucania_landscape%2BJune%2B1015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />There isn’t a wall that has been built around the region by Federico II or Mussolini. The 21st century is here. It’s just in perspective to the other 20+ that have preceded it. The stones symbolize a time in which humans are just a small glimmer, a comma, not a volume. Some Lucanians have ventured out to the larger world. Talking with a young woman, her family owns a vineyard in Basilicata. “Did you leave your home and go to Rome? To Milan? To Torino?” I ask her. “I did. I was looking for my life away from here. I wanted a career. I wanted an identity as a modern woman. I didn’t want to be left in the dust of time.” she told me. “And what brought you back?” I prodded. “It wasn’t a coming back. It wasn’t like that. Rome and Milan, and my ‘career’ gave me the perspective to see that my life wasn’t going to be one where I served from the city. It was more circular than that. I saw my father, how hard he worked for this land, and my mother and my grandparents and great grandparents. How could I give that up for a 3rd floor apartment in Milan, and ferie in Forte dei Marmi?”<br /><br />Her eyes penetrated through the strong back-light from the window behind where she stood, as she poured me a glass of her family’s Aglianico. That was all one needed to know, why she made full-circle.<br /><br />“You know we are considered the poorest region in all of Italy.” I was interviewing another female winemaker from Basilicata. The matriarchal runs deep and strong in these parts, as already noted. “But it wasn’t always this way. When Garibaldi made his march to the north, he didn’t go empty handed. He plundered the banks in the south. He took much of our wealth. And now the people in the north look at us ‘poor southerners’ and they ask why they must always pull us out of the river.” I’ve heard this said many times. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9hG9S_No7w4/VZAh56PTB5I/AAAAAAAAibI/sgrGGEoQp8I/s1600/hands%2Bbehind%2Bback_Basilicata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9hG9S_No7w4/VZAh56PTB5I/AAAAAAAAibI/sgrGGEoQp8I/s400/hands%2Bbehind%2Bback_Basilicata.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>In Sicily, sitting at a table having caffe latté and a brioche. “Garibaldi sat at this very table, after he ‘requisitioned’ our family estate as his temporary headquarters.” I was talking to a relative, in the searing summer morning about to become a scorcher of a day. There was little love for the man in those words, other than relief that he finally left and went up north. “Liberated Italy? Is that what the history books called it? He liberated quite a bit more than that. He pillaged the South. And we’re still trying to recover. With the Mafia, though, who knows when we’ll ever get back to who we were?” My relative never lived to see that day. We’re still not there. Yes, along with all the mystical, earth-mother meanderings here, there is also a darkness that in the brightest, hottest, sunniest Southern Italian day, masks the spirit of these folks and mars all of Italy.<br /><br />“They take our wine to make theirs stronger, our wheat, because it makes the best pasta. They eat our tomatoes in January; we feed them in the winter. And they mock us whenever they can. But if any of them would come and make an honest living here with us, they wouldn’t last a year.” In a shop, getting stamps, gum, tobacco, lotto, the man behind the counter, how many times have I heard this? Italy's North/South bitterness rivals America’s present day tribal/economic/racial acrimony.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_dpi68qcWqQ/VZAezRp15WI/AAAAAAAAiaw/o4ADTHz_x0c/s1600/cows%2Bin%2Bbasilicata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_dpi68qcWqQ/VZAezRp15WI/AAAAAAAAiaw/o4ADTHz_x0c/s400/cows%2Bin%2Bbasilicata.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>And all along this path of life, walking with us, are the animals. Cows, clinging to a hillside, their muscles strengthened by their routine and their healthy diet, making their meat, for humans, so desirable. Those creatures. Birds, flittering, all types, from raptors to doves, navigating their ways with celestial guidance, making music for the earthbound ones as we look up in wonder at how easily they ascend. And the unseen ones, the wolf, the turtle, the dormouse. An occasional lizard sunning themselves on a hot rock. Teeming life, of which we humans rarely ponder. But which, regardless of our consideration, fills this land with more life than we mere mortals can comprehend. All this, leading to a glass of red wine.<br /><br />Pure wine – strong wine – wine of truth. Aglianico. Not the Barolo of the South. Never. Ever. It isn’t light wine. It’s dark and brooding. Aglianico from Basilicata, which I prefer over the Campanian style, is purple and spicy and herbal and absinthian and it’s like being a little kid being held by your mamma, holding you while you cry as she gently gives you drops of bittersweet medicine in order to keep you from suffering for one more night. Yes, Aglianico, to some of us is medicine. Good Medicine. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r3Zy9gRjhZQ/VZAdg89HxUI/AAAAAAAAiak/EMLOjgk6lD0/s1600/door%2Bin%2Bmatera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r3Zy9gRjhZQ/VZAdg89HxUI/AAAAAAAAiak/EMLOjgk6lD0/s400/door%2Bin%2Bmatera.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Have you ever had a 50 year old Aglianico del Vulture? If you have, you’re one of a few who have ever. The wine, the land, the people were not so organized to store them to see about that claim. They were too involved with living their lives, with survival. Oh, yes, there are bottles in those rock hewed cellars in Rionero. But who’s going to tell you what the vintage is on those unlabeled bottles, piled up for so many years. Maybe the man (or woman) who placed them there is now gone. And even if you could find someone, what language will you speak it in? Theirs? Do you know this language?<br /><br />Looking for old wine is a conceit for urban dwellers. Take, instead, your cue from the old guys. Drink the Aglianico. Don’t wait for it to get old. It’s a waiting game you won’t win. Drink it. Open it in the winter. Open it in the summer. Have it with meat. Have it with vegetables. Make sauce from you garden of too many tomatoes and marry it with pasta and just drink the Aglianico. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ntr8GOxQuw/VZAcN4FyvII/AAAAAAAAiaY/6jiReLkq4vg/s1600/vin%2Bcotto%2Bbw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ntr8GOxQuw/VZAcN4FyvII/AAAAAAAAiaY/6jiReLkq4vg/s400/vin%2Bcotto%2Bbw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>And for those of you who do venture south, go to this little corner of forgotten time and refresh your spirit with the ageless ones. There are happy people there, living simply. Don’t pity them. Don’t covet their life. Celebrate life with them and with their unconquerable red wine for which there is a name and for which there is no equivalent.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><i>Again, thank you to Nicola Campanile, Maurizio Gily and Ole Udsen for conspiring to finally get me to Radici del Sud and back to Lucania.</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1dSnMAQLt8/VZAbV5UfhUI/AAAAAAAAiaI/JcbD2Akh5gA/s1600/matera%2Bold%2Bman%2Bbw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1dSnMAQLt8/VZAbV5UfhUI/AAAAAAAAiaI/JcbD2Akh5gA/s320/matera%2Bold%2Bman%2Bbw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed (all in Basilicata) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/06/lucania-as-i-see-it.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-38936854232925114Sun, 21 Jun 2015 14:43:00 +00002015-06-28T11:49:00.756-05:00Radici del SudRadici del Sud ~ An Emotional Pilgrimage to One’s Origins<span style="color: #444444;"><i>One soul's radical search for the ideal on an imbalanced planet&nbsp; </i></span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AREOg9grzGo/VYbGjo3ukEI/AAAAAAAAiX4/RyULG38x78o/s1600/Donkey%2B1977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AREOg9grzGo/VYbGjo3ukEI/AAAAAAAAiX4/RyULG38x78o/s400/Donkey%2B1977.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">Bucita, Calabria ~ 1977</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Do you have a lifelong quest? What about life in this world lights up your spirit? Is there some thing, whether it be objective or subjective, that keeps your heart pumping blood through your veins? I hope so, for your sake. We’ve seen too much in this world, lately, of souls who have no greater purpose. And when those dark things happen, our world stumbles.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RHcQk5McPQI/VYbGkMjfOfI/AAAAAAAAiYA/QmkbME8tOlw/s1600/door%2Bin%2Btaurasi%2Btown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RHcQk5McPQI/VYbGkMjfOfI/AAAAAAAAiYA/QmkbME8tOlw/s320/door%2Bin%2Btaurasi%2Btown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The world I inhabit mourns with the rest of the souls sensitive enough to know the dark path is the wrong path. When the unspeakable happens, it seems at first, all we can do is stare into the abyss and ask, why? It’s a fool’s errand, for the actions that we grieve over didn’t spring from the well of reason. For my European friends who look at America as a magical place, this kind of tragedy mystifies them even more than those of us in America. I just spent a week in Italy with friends, old and new, and we talked about things like this over the table. President Obama clearly elucidated how many of us on both sides of the ocean feel in the remarks he gave this week:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq"><i>“But let’s be clear: At some point, we as a country will have to reckon with the fact that this type of mass violence does not happen in other advanced countries. It doesn’t happen in other places with this kind of frequency. And it is in our power to do something about it. I say that recognizing the politics in this town foreclose a lot of those avenues right now. But it would be wrong for us not to acknowledge it. And at some point it’s going to be important for the American people to come to grips with it, and for us to be able to shift how we think about the issue of gun violence collectively.”</i></blockquote><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F-eo2YYsGUY/VYbIRMzugxI/AAAAAAAAiYk/4CLtN3g4rto/s1600/children%2Bplaying%2Bin%2BPutignano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F-eo2YYsGUY/VYbIRMzugxI/AAAAAAAAiYk/4CLtN3g4rto/s320/children%2Bplaying%2Bin%2BPutignano.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Yes we all are going to have to dig deeper and come to grips with racism, in American and in Italy. While in Bari for a week, I saw a region embracing a wider cultural mix. In the little square where we had dinner in Putignano, Italian children played with African children. Clearly, Italy, from the south up, is doing the work of dealing with souls, not skins. I thought about the existential crisis in the north, with the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/2015/06/16/world/europe/ap-eu-italy-migrants.html" target="_blank">refugees camped at the Italian-French border</a>. I know that racism exists – I have been treated like a black man at times. Not to take away from the black man’s plight, who is treated like a black man all the time. Just to say, I have had a window into that world, and I cannot imagine how one can live life being treated like that 24/7.<br /><br />I made friends in the 1970’s with a Hopi elder, from one of the old villages, Oraibi. We corresponded for a time. It was a brief interaction, but one that gave me insight into one of the great indigenous peoples on this world. The people of Hopituskwa see themselves as caretakers of the earth. That lesson has stayed with me all this time.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iej4gYEG1a8/VYbGkspnXkI/AAAAAAAAiYE/rdPmzs0RL2Q/s1600/snail%2Bon%2Bvine_Campania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iej4gYEG1a8/VYbGkspnXkI/AAAAAAAAiYE/rdPmzs0RL2Q/s320/snail%2Bon%2Bvine_Campania.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>While in Italy, as a guest of Radici del Sud, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to dig even deeper into my southern Italian roots was bestowed upon me and all who traveled there for the event. A week-long event, for which I took time off to go to. Why, do you ask, would one take vacation time to do what one does in the working time? I’m not sure I can answer adequately, but for me it was more like a retreat into my roots, with wine.<br /><br />We immersed ourselves in Apulia, Campania, Basilicata and Calabria and their indigenous grapes. In reality it wasn’t emotionally much different from the times I’d go to Hopituskwa and crawl among the villages of Sipaulovi, Shungopavi, Oraibi, Hotevilla and Lower Moenkopi. That same sense of sacred permeates the southern Italian land. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qvq8NNlUCPE/VYbGjO5X2lI/AAAAAAAAiXs/4njvgl1f_90/s1600/Campania_Goddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qvq8NNlUCPE/VYbGjO5X2lI/AAAAAAAAiXs/4njvgl1f_90/s320/Campania_Goddess.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In Basilicata, where the Catholic religion has integrated earlier spiritual traditions, it was most interesting. The Goddess energy is so strong. In Campania, as well, along with a strong dose of temporality, assisted by Vesuvio. Apulia, the long flat tongue of a place, with such amazing fecundity. And Calabria, one of the last wild places left in Italy, which the people and the peppers emote with rebellious fervor. I find these things inspiring, for my path is to find a deeper trail into the heart and soul of Italy, not a 5 star resort. <br /><br />Most of all, the people. I cannot even begin to talk about the wonderful humans I met. From Italy, north and south, from Austria, Belgium, Denmark, England, Germany, Holland, Japan, Hong Kong, Norway, Poland, Sweden and on. People for whom Italy and Italian wine is their path. My global tribe. So wonderful to be with them, visiting wine regions, tasting wine, eating, swimming, laughing, falling asleep, and being with each other.<br /><br />Back home, in my little greenhouse world of Italian wine, there aren’t a lot from my tribe here. There are some, but the deeper discussion, the exploration, the collaborative, those are endangered. Oh yes, if you want to post a picture of the five greatest Barolos on your Instagram page, I reckon that is a kind of 21st century communication. But it does nothing for me and it moves not this soul. It’s just another selfie. “Look how big mine is.” Yes, yours is bigger than mine. We’re talking about egos, yes?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JkqVk7KMN0c/VYbHklKz6YI/AAAAAAAAiYc/TTXSAGPARIQ/s1600/P1110290%2Bbw%2B200%2Byear%2Bold%2Bvine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JkqVk7KMN0c/VYbHklKz6YI/AAAAAAAAiYc/TTXSAGPARIQ/s320/P1110290%2Bbw%2B200%2Byear%2Bold%2Bvine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://carlobevilacqua.photoshelter.com/index#!/index/G0000tpKX_Udfrqg/I0000nRpw9.wPmrs" target="_blank">Carlo Bevilacqua</a> photographs solitary ones around the world. I've written about him in the past. Like the old vines and the livestock that inhabits the lands of Southern Italy, so too, there are humans who represent the ancient ‘radici’ that makes this place so profuse. <br /><br />I might romanticize Italy much as the Italians romanticize the American West. I’ve seen the unromantic side of the American West, having lived in it most of my life. Nonetheless, we all have a need to make our little dreams ones that we don’t want to tear ourselves away from, in a sweat, with a start. We all want our sweet dreams. For me, Southern Italy is a window into such a dream. And for the wine lover, this is a profoundly rich immersion, if only for a few days. But I will be back with my trowel and my camera and my unquenchable thirst for my roots.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_VY5VTPX2mI/VYbGkvAScZI/AAAAAAAAiYI/XVk2j5lj7Sw/s1600/window%2Bin%2Bbasilicata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_VY5VTPX2mI/VYbGkvAScZI/AAAAAAAAiYI/XVk2j5lj7Sw/s320/window%2Bin%2Bbasilicata.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><i>A huge thank you to Nicola Campanile, Maurizio Gily and Ole Udsen for spearheading the conspiracy and opening doors to finally get me to Radici del Sud. There are many others as well, and further posts will follow in acknowledgement. This is truly a wonderful regional event, and one I hope I can return to again some day.</i><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-93yIuXFrvbY/VYbGjho0BVI/AAAAAAAAiXw/NA5he6ixW4U/s1600/angel%2Band%2Bsaint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-93yIuXFrvbY/VYbGjho0BVI/AAAAAAAAiXw/NA5he6ixW4U/s320/angel%2Band%2Bsaint.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed ( in Southern Italy) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/06/radici-del-sud-emotional-pilgrimage-to.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-5192928277218191803Sun, 14 Jun 2015 16:05:00 +00002015-06-28T11:49:16.433-05:00Radici del SudMaster Class in Indigenous Wines ~ As Taught by a Donkey, a Rooster and the Spirit of Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y_q1I7ED4ZI/VX2i9aimiGI/AAAAAAAAiB8/m1ds3eytr00/s1600/weight%2Btool.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y_q1I7ED4ZI/VX2i9aimiGI/AAAAAAAAiB8/m1ds3eytr00/s320/weight%2Btool.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></span>here are aspects to life that don’t travel so well on the road. One of them is the lack of interaction with creatures other than humans. Maybe it is a pet, or the birds in one’s back yard, any number of life forms that constitute the daily connections one has, sometimes not even thinking about it. The other, if one is so inclined, is the interplay one has with nature, the grounded lifeforms that don’t move. Maybe it is a tree, or a bush, a plant with fruit or vegetables. And while traveling, those elements that form part of the identity of one’s life, be it only an inner one, they aren’t able to be packed into the suitcase.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />This week, in and around Bari in Southern Italy, has been a wonderful experience tasting many wines from indigenous varieties, thanks to all the great folks at Radici Del Sud. Meeting people, some old friends, and some new, getting them to tell their story, opening a wine or two, an immersion of sorts. It has been a really great way to have an exposure to a world that is vibrant, and to a large part, unknown to wine drinkers back in places like Texas, or for that part, California and New York. These aren’t household names, Susumaniello, Nerello Mascalese, Verdeca, Aglianico, Nero di Troia, Minutolo. Oh yes, the somm-set or the wine geeks are fully briefed on these matters. But for the other 99.9%, these are exotic, foreign, unknown.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S2sE6KbaomU/VX1wcntc9QI/AAAAAAAAiBY/H7MBSVoH7ac/s1600/roofline.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S2sE6KbaomU/VX1wcntc9QI/AAAAAAAAiBY/H7MBSVoH7ac/s400/roofline.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>While at one of these tastings, there came a point when the introvert within pulled the car over to the road and had a little talk with me. “Look, this is all fine, but you’ve got to give me a moment to breathe. Meeting 35 people in 2 hours and having them tell us their story, and taste their wine, well, it’s taxing. I need to step way for a moment and recharge.” <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0rljR_WGPRs/VX2j_ptl_7I/AAAAAAAAiCE/VdiaK_eTdQw/s1600/bowl%2Bof%2Broses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0rljR_WGPRs/VX2j_ptl_7I/AAAAAAAAiCE/VdiaK_eTdQw/s320/bowl%2Bof%2Broses.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We were in Minervino Murge at <a href="http://www.masseriabarbera.it/" target="_blank">Masseria Barbera</a>, tasting Nero di Troia, Primitivo and other indigenous wines. All well and good, but the alcohol was searing my throat. I needed a breather. So I quietly slipped off from the group for a moment and walked outside to smell the rosemary.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--Lvdht1z2zo/VX1yeBUT5vI/AAAAAAAAiBk/DCF49paOzGI/s1600/blurred%2Bb%2Band%2Bw%2Braker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--Lvdht1z2zo/VX1yeBUT5vI/AAAAAAAAiBk/DCF49paOzGI/s400/blurred%2Bb%2Band%2Bw%2Braker.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Once outside, the forces of nature led me in a new degustation; a little like tasting a wine, but the glass is a bit larger. Here a kitten searching for the warmth of her mother’s bosom. There is the bouquet of wild flowers gathered by a darkly tanned man, the same one who rakes the rocks with a handmade tool, smoothing them out with as much intent as a Zen monk in his rock garden. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b51dcDOqKcY/VX2iETvNEMI/AAAAAAAAiB0/-FuJler2LN4/s1600/secret%2Bgarden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b51dcDOqKcY/VX2iETvNEMI/AAAAAAAAiB0/-FuJler2LN4/s320/secret%2Bgarden.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Walk a little ways and there is a secret little pine forest, where the breeze choreographs the branches beyond anything Diaghilev dared dream possible. In the middle is a worn down stone trough, perhaps carved hundreds of years ago by a soul who could never have dreamed what the 21st century would bring. Nonetheless, his (or her) influences, their touch, still makes an impression across the span of those many years.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C6bgPM64c5I/VX1vKrqdIBI/AAAAAAAAiA8/Bwglxuzt8kM/s1600/rooster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C6bgPM64c5I/VX1vKrqdIBI/AAAAAAAAiA8/Bwglxuzt8kM/s320/rooster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A ways off, there is the call of a peacock, the nervous murmur of the chicken, the assertive alarm the rooster makes to all those under his care, all assembled in their courtyard, taking on the seeds and the little dramas of their daily lives.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UGtQjnT_DFs/VX1u-oD81VI/AAAAAAAAiAk/pA6sOHnAEV0/s1600/donkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UGtQjnT_DFs/VX1u-oD81VI/AAAAAAAAiAk/pA6sOHnAEV0/s320/donkey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Nearby is Maria Pia, the chef’s solitary donkey, penned in and shaking off the flies that swirl around her legs, eyes and back. How patient she is. She comes up to me, looks me in the eye, and that missing connection, one that is had at home with the cat or the dog, is made. “Tell me about your land, Maria Pia,” I ask her with my eyes. And her eyes answer back. And we walk alongside each other for a moment, before another tree, a peach or a plant, a wild artichoke, calls me over to tell me their story.<br /><br />And so it goes.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qAkMdSza8Y4/VX1vWu8KH6I/AAAAAAAAiBI/y4nhCnDz69Q/s1600/cardoon%2Bin%2Bbloom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qAkMdSza8Y4/VX1vWu8KH6I/AAAAAAAAiBI/y4nhCnDz69Q/s320/cardoon%2Bin%2Bbloom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Understanding wine, especially esoteric ones that showcase the distinctive richness of Italy, isn’t always just a matter of tasting them. What makes these wines so unique are also the little swirling stories around the wines. If one is to understand Nero di Troia or Primitivo, I need to also know what the animals think is important about this place, what compels the cardoon to grow abundantly in the clearing, why the peaches here are so sweet and so close to the sea at that. Then I can try to ask myself what is this Nero di Troia, what is this Minutolo, and perhaps find a better understanding of why they have decided to live out their life here, while I flit about the earth, from place to place, missing what it is I have left behind.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gvqdc2DXj54/VX1u-rQia-I/AAAAAAAAiAg/sPeFt6tPYyI/s1600/cut%2Bwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gvqdc2DXj54/VX1u-rQia-I/AAAAAAAAiAg/sPeFt6tPYyI/s320/cut%2Bwood.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed (at <a href="http://www.masseriabarbera.it/" target="_blank"><b>Masseria Barbera</b></a> in Minervino Murge) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/06/master-class-in-indigenous-wines-as.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-3278371067851524353Sun, 07 Jun 2015 23:29:00 +00002015-06-08T04:43:35.914-05:00What the World Needs Now is Passerina, Sweet #Passerina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iIdmNMT9awk/VXTQLRBmYtI/AAAAAAAAh_o/9unqPbtAxHQ/s1600/rome%2Bfountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iIdmNMT9awk/VXTQLRBmYtI/AAAAAAAAh_o/9unqPbtAxHQ/s320/rome%2Bfountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">R</span></span>ome, if anything, is a mirror of all that is good and bad in the world. From my first trip here, in 1971, and with all the times I have come into this city, it has eternally stayed the same. Rome is simply a reflection of the humanity that inhabits present time and space.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />Tonight, at Cesare al Casaletto, the food was lovely as always, the mosquitos were gentle, the dogs were patient and many of the patrons were in a state of propagation frenzy. One would have thought it was the beginning of Spring, not the end. I counted four tables where the dessert was foreplay. Entertaining, at the least, to this observer, who had a brand new Passerina to keep him company.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VagIUCtacGg/VXTRGehiXWI/AAAAAAAAh_w/uwQlB5_QQgM/s1600/calamari%2Bfritti%2Bat%2Bcesare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VagIUCtacGg/VXTRGehiXWI/AAAAAAAAh_w/uwQlB5_QQgM/s320/calamari%2Bfritti%2Bat%2Bcesare.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>What is it about Passerina? It’s not as harsh as Trebbiano, not as deep as Verdicchio, not as shallow as Frascati and not at all disappointing. If I could imagine a world, it would be one where Passerina flowed endlessly, to all who were open to its charms. Passerina is what many of us are looking for in a wine ̶&nbsp; delicate, fresh, clean, yes it’s all that. But it’s not just that, something else is going on. How well it went with the fried zucchini blossoms. And the fresh calamari fritti. But then the rigatoni with oxtail sauce comes to the table. Did it shrink? Not at all. Passerina stood up to the challenge, took the bull by the horns and the two were last seen nuzzling up to each other, way beyond the foreplay stage. Yes, versatile, would be the word. But never cheap or even easy. One must bring their best sauce, their finest al dente pasta, for Passerina bores easily. And the last thing one wants is a lackluster Passerina.<br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br />In other news, well not really news at all. More like a pre-moon-landing walk down Via Veneto.<br /><br />While I am in Rome, long time restaurateur once told me about Rome in the 1960’s. This restaurateur, let’s call him Mario, told me that he would come to Italy to visit relatives and to do research on the foods being served in local places, usually upscale, as Mario was an upscale kind of guy.<br /><br />For those who don’t know or are too young to remember, the Via Veneto was ground zero for La Dolce Vita. Fellini fashioned ideas and shaped images from the Via Veneto café society. I was too young, but by all accounts, this was the place to be. Italy was coming out of its long coma from the last war, and Western Society was going through the beginning of a sexual revolution that we still haven’t seen the end of. Talk about a long tail.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GOgyAteqBv4/VXTSJbXasaI/AAAAAAAAh_4/-qlQTAIeKEE/s1600/two%2Bgents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GOgyAteqBv4/VXTSJbXasaI/AAAAAAAAh_4/-qlQTAIeKEE/s320/two%2Bgents.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Mario was on site, regularly, to assess the food scene, and to also participate in the café society that attracted folks like him. I can only imagine the energy that Rome had for those who were open to such experiences. Many of them are old now, if not dead. And likely, the youth of today look at these oldsters as folks who have never felt a quiver in their loins. Well, those youngsters would be mistaken, for it was the octogenarians, and the nonagenarians who set the sexual revolution in play and made it possible for those four couples to start their foreplay course at the tables in front of me. It was a great show, and I had a wonderful little Passerina there to keep me company.<br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br />And the wine? It was a 2014 from Agricola Macciocca, Monocromo #1, Passerina del Frusinate IGT from Lazio. A wine produced in harmony with nature and one that was not only delicious and a great value, but one that ebbed and pulsed with the meal and the emotions that were present in Rome on a late Spring night. And yes, it was a dry wine, but a very sweet experience.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lyk-c3_LBSk/VXTQJ0bwA9I/AAAAAAAAh_g/uTc2P26q6RY/s1600/monocrome%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lyk-c3_LBSk/VXTQJ0bwA9I/AAAAAAAAh_g/uTc2P26q6RY/s320/monocrome%2B1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />So, it seems, we're finally back on the wine trail in Italy. More to come. Check in regularly for the next week or so.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed ( in Rome) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/06/what-world-needs-now-is-passerina-sweet.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-8691393444464592978Sun, 31 May 2015 17:54:00 +00002015-06-01T13:14:53.319-05:00The Death of a Loved One<span style="color: #666666;"><i>From the "not quite back on the wine trail, yet" dept.</i></span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bUC-NPrn2t4/VWtDCdTpO2I/AAAAAAAAh0k/Ea3bz3JqyZ8/s1600/green%2Bfig%2Bshoot%2Bin%2Bgroup%2Bof%2Bbranches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bUC-NPrn2t4/VWtDCdTpO2I/AAAAAAAAh0k/Ea3bz3JqyZ8/s400/green%2Bfig%2Bshoot%2Bin%2Bgroup%2Bof%2Bbranches.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span>n a world where there are so many tragic events&nbsp; ̶&nbsp; from the father who lost his wife and daughter when he was 30 and raised his two sons as a single parent, only to lose a son when he became a grown up, to a young boy who, at 5, lost his father to tribal warfare in Ruanda ̶&nbsp; what does the loss of one tree matter?<br /><br />Earlier this month, crisscrossing Texas by car, time and again, I recall the morning I was driving from Dallas to Houston and saw a large, mature oak tree in a field that had toppled over from the rain. I was going 65-70 and as I saw the newly fallen giant, I felt a sharp pain inside. Still green, still hopeful from a Spring filled with energy, this tree wouldn’t see another autumn.<br /><br />A few weeks later, driving by the same spot, the tree was brown and lifeless now. There was none of that “It‘s still green, it might just be sleeping on its side” pretend one does to internally forestall the inevitable reality of death.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NmHFZcE0oN4/VWtHMJjkHYI/AAAAAAAAh08/NPKoSCYgjpU/s1600/P1100566bw%2Bfallen%2Bfig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NmHFZcE0oN4/VWtHMJjkHYI/AAAAAAAAh08/NPKoSCYgjpU/s320/P1100566bw%2Bfallen%2Bfig.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Driving from Houston to Austin, around Bastrop, again the area was lush and verdant from a season of rainfall. A few years earlier, during drought, fires ripped through the area. As a reminder, thousands of charred, stripped poles dotted the landscape. Here, thousands died. And their lifeless trunks stood as their grave markers.<br /><br />May, in Texas, has vanquished the drought that had loomed over us for several years. That is now the fate of California. And to gauge how bad the drought is, scientists have turned to the trees. Looking at the rings of blue oak trees, going back to the 13th century, and have determined nothing this extreme has been in play, for at least a millennia.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QlgQ9kAkUFI/VWtDA6MxlmI/AAAAAAAAh0Q/OAKIMmt2r5U/s1600/cecio%2Bpruning%2Bthe%2Bfig%2Btree%2Bbw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QlgQ9kAkUFI/VWtDA6MxlmI/AAAAAAAAh0Q/OAKIMmt2r5U/s400/cecio%2Bpruning%2Bthe%2Bfig%2Btree%2Bbw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Yes, there are many important, urgent occurrences pushing up against all of us. So, why one tree, why would it impact any one?<br /><br />I remember when I brought it home from the nursery. I was so proud to have found the little fig tree. It was in a gallon size container. It had only the simplest of markings on it, “Brown Turkey fig.” I had recently moved into our house and the side yard needed a tree. My grandparents in California had this wonderful fig tree in their back yard. I loved figs. It seemed right.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXRYD_QrJRs/VWtHOH7khKI/AAAAAAAAh1U/U8fzo9ZAbZQ/s1600/fig%2Btree%2Bbefore%2Band%2Bafter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXRYD_QrJRs/VWtHOH7khKI/AAAAAAAAh1U/U8fzo9ZAbZQ/s400/fig%2Btree%2Bbefore%2Band%2Bafter.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I look out the window where I am writing this and instead of those bright green leaves and the little baby figs that were sprouting out from the branches, not 24 hours ago, now there is nothing but the naked sky. It sickens me to think of how I found my fig tree. I went outside to check on something and noticed the branches were drooping rather low to the ground. We’d just had another torrential downpour, so I thought the branches were heavy with the weight of the water. And then I saw the tree was leaning, rather, propped against the house. I panicked. The tree stood maybe 12-14 feet tall; the double trunks were probably 14-16 inches in circumference. It was a heavy tree. I would not be able to push it back up, prop it with poles, wires and hope. Who knew if we were done with the rains yet?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4k7wGUDxvaY/VWtDC6aHCPI/AAAAAAAAh0s/FBZlhQZoJ0c/s1600/texas%2Bfigs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4k7wGUDxvaY/VWtDC6aHCPI/AAAAAAAAh0s/FBZlhQZoJ0c/s320/texas%2Bfigs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>A month, maybe six weeks, until harvest. Until the time when I would go out and chase away the birds from the sweet fruits. No more. Harvest is cancelled this year. The birds, and the humans, will have to search elsewhere for those wonderful pleasures.<br /><br />I didn’t think about why my grandparents had a fig tree in their back year in California. They had other fruit and citrus trees back there as well. They ate from their back yard, as we do today in this now barren of fig tree year. I also had to cut down the little fig tree that I planted 6 years ago, a cutting <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2007/04/tree-hugger.html" target="_blank">a friend had brought back from Sardegna</a>. Two fig trees lost, in the same month. Devastating, to this one.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U--6gMRvwMM/VWtDB0XTtMI/AAAAAAAAh0g/7eyy47YtW24/s1600/frozen%2Bfig%2Bshoot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U--6gMRvwMM/VWtDB0XTtMI/AAAAAAAAh0g/7eyy47YtW24/s320/frozen%2Bfig%2Bshoot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Talking to a young man this morning at the local farmer’s market. He could relate. “I recently planted 5 acres with 500 peach trees. We lost 267 of them with the rains. It’s a tough pill to swallow.”<br /><br />Is it one of insurmountable grief? Of course not. It’s nothing like when my wife died. But it is like the loss of a distant family member, of a pet, of someone you might not have known but who nonetheless was influential in your life, maybe like a President who was gunned down in the streets of Dallas. Maybe yes, maybe no.<br /><br />The loss is raw and sharp right now. Over time, it will temper and soften. And from the stumps of the two trees, there is hope. Little leaves are sprouting back up. It’s not a total loss. But it’s a painful one in this moment, a tough pill to swallow, like the farmer said. And another lesson in the transitory nature of life in a universe that we have found ourselves immersed in, for the time being.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DDqBb-jj99k/VWtHM7YlR9I/AAAAAAAAh1I/d6SIyIJaqLE/s1600/fallen%2Bfig%2Btree2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DDqBb-jj99k/VWtHM7YlR9I/AAAAAAAAh1I/d6SIyIJaqLE/s400/fallen%2Bfig%2Btree2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">written and <span style="color: #444444;"><i>(unfortunately)</i></span> photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> <br /><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-death-of-loved-one.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-1421859893975613243Sun, 24 May 2015 17:39:00 +00002015-05-29T10:56:05.030-05:00On turning 100 +1: How many times do you get to say this and it really happens?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Loyjl1CsVAc/VWH74VrPoZI/AAAAAAAAhmE/yrG-BE0oW28/s1600/DSC_2888sm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Loyjl1CsVAc/VWH74VrPoZI/AAAAAAAAhmE/yrG-BE0oW28/s400/DSC_2888sm.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Y</span></span>ou hear it all the time at the Italian table. Someone has a birthday and everyone picks up a glass of wine to toast them. Someone else shouts out “Cent’anni!” and it is followed by the volley “e uno!”<br /><br />One hundred years. And one. <br /><br />And this time it really happened. To my dear mom. <br /><br />In all likelihood, we would be celebrating her 100th today. For years she thought she had been born in 1915. But when she went to get her passport, mom had to dig up a birth certificate. She was born in Tobasco, Colorado, which is now a ghost town. What a surprise it was to mom when she found out she was one year older than she thought she was. Oh well, it wasn’t like she was cheated out of that year.<br /><br />“It seems like I just turned 100. Where did that last year go?” Where do they all go, mom? We’re in the boat with you, even the young ones. Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin', into the future.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aq7m9P_L-4c/VWH77KJLV1I/AAAAAAAAhm0/c8kSsfV6O_c/s1600/mom%2Bselfie%2B1965%2Bgrainy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aq7m9P_L-4c/VWH77KJLV1I/AAAAAAAAhm0/c8kSsfV6O_c/s320/mom%2Bselfie%2B1965%2Bgrainy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Mom has a lot of things she has said to me over the years. When I first started shooting photographs, 50 years ago (when she thought she was 50, but she was really 51!) mom was a not always willing subject for my camera. “Why are you always taking unflattering pictures of me?” was the refrain I’d hear all the time. I guess I was exploring the other sides of my mom.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v_uDq1P4qv4/VWH770bd37I/AAAAAAAAhnA/f3k5y6JXWVY/s1600/young%2Bmom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v_uDq1P4qv4/VWH770bd37I/AAAAAAAAhnA/f3k5y6JXWVY/s320/young%2Bmom.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>After all, she had movie star looks and no dearth of fabulous glamor shots. A striking Southern Italian beauty, the kind you still see in Italy – unfettered, genuine and timeless. <br /><br />But I was a little stinker and sometimes I’d push the boundaries of esthetic pursuit. My dad, my sisters, my grandparents, they all put up with my incessant shooting. Thanks to them, I learned how to take people pictures, although I couldn’t imagine any family member showcasing my work on their walls. That’s Ok, as I fall into the street-photography genre more readily than the family-portraiture one.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HlJWV4_jtS4/VWH74uerq_I/AAAAAAAAhmI/lVc2iK5_Ews/s1600/elissa%2Bcevola%2B1970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HlJWV4_jtS4/VWH74uerq_I/AAAAAAAAhmI/lVc2iK5_Ews/s320/elissa%2Bcevola%2B1970.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><br />But it’s been a fun ride, from the time I’ve been on the scene. If you imagine what people like my mom have seen in their 101 years on planet Earth, it has been monumental, historic, even epic. And to be able to remember and clearly elucidate some of those things she’s seen in times past, that’s even more fantastic. Two world wars, an influenza epidemic she barely skipped by. An economic depression the likes of which we have only recently touched upon, but not to the extent of the Great Depression. The birth of the Nuclear age, with the “Bomb.” When we were living in the desert, there were times when they were testing A and H bombs to the east of us. I remember a time or two, hearing when they were testing the bigger ones. I even remember a time when we had to stay inside as the wind was blowing from the east after a big event and radiation was feared to be drifting over the populated areas of the desert.<br /><br />Fashion, cars, jets, technology, space travel, computers. Mom has an IPad and an IPhone (6+). She does texts, email and Facebook. She has a land line too, just in case. But she’s seen it all. Three kids, eight grandchildren and a load of great grandchildren as well, in her nuclear and extended families.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rw22n9Hj818/VWH75v2ie3I/AAAAAAAAhmY/xTgp6D9xa4Q/s1600/mom%2Band%2Bdad%2B1935%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rw22n9Hj818/VWH75v2ie3I/AAAAAAAAhmY/xTgp6D9xa4Q/s400/mom%2Band%2Bdad%2B1935%2B1.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>My dad, he died 30 years ago. But he’s still here in his way. I see him in my son, and in my sister Julie’s oldest son. Too bad he left us too soon. But his sister Mary is still among us, at 97.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-txMDWQThS7M/VWH77GI4N_I/AAAAAAAAhmw/GKm8hYW1RfM/s1600/old%2Bpict_car%2B%25264%2Bsibl%2Bwith%2Bcaptions1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-txMDWQThS7M/VWH77GI4N_I/AAAAAAAAhmw/GKm8hYW1RfM/s400/old%2Bpict_car%2B%25264%2Bsibl%2Bwith%2Bcaptions1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>And my mom’s sister Josephine will turn 99 in two months. Longevity runs in the family. It’s good to have parents whose roots sprung from blue zones. My dad’s dad and his sister both made it to 97. My mom’s mom made it to 94. I only hope I’ve saved up enough to get me through what might be a potentially long run. I hope so. <br /><br />Well, mom, I hope you have fun this weekend with the grandchildren and great grandchildren. I know you’d like to have us all there, and one big party. But your life is a movable feast, and so why not celebrate as many times as you can? After all, it’s not every day you turn 101!<br /><br />Love you, mom. I guess we have to come up with a new toast. How about “Cent’anni!” followed by “e due!”<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-okFy6Chy-w0/VWH75ElsoiI/AAAAAAAAhmU/nmAna08M468/s1600/mom%2Band%2Balf.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-okFy6Chy-w0/VWH75ElsoiI/AAAAAAAAhmU/nmAna08M468/s400/mom%2Band%2Balf.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/05/how-many-times-do-you-get-to-say-this.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-6373256474376767878Sun, 17 May 2015 23:29:00 +00002015-06-21T10:29:44.841-05:00“All Italian White Wines Taste Alike”<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5vgA7PY2HH8/VVkjKYp6eiI/AAAAAAAAhaU/kZ_7a4jDWxU/s1600/DSC_7473bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5vgA7PY2HH8/VVkjKYp6eiI/AAAAAAAAhaU/kZ_7a4jDWxU/s400/DSC_7473bw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span>’m sitting at a table, in a restaurant, with a seminal figure in white wine. The beverage director comes up to us to say hello. A few pleasantries are exchanged. After all, we are guests, even if we are part of the “trade.” Our money spends as well. <br /><br />We’re talking to the beverage director about which wines do and do not work in his place, which is seafood centric. We come to find out that in this place of his, he says his best-selling category is Cabernet Sauvignon. We are close to a huge body of water; the city is cosmopolitan and diverse. The clientele is well-healed. The menu is seafood. And Cabernet is the big hit here.<br /><br />We then approach the subject of Italian wine. I’m beginning to think this fellow isn’t a white wine drinker. But he confirms it when he declares “all Italian white wines taste alike.” He then went on to remark that he had never had a memorable one.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />Well, alright then. We order some Champagne and slog on through the night. <br /><br />Later that evening, in the hotel, tossing and turning, I thought about what he said about Italian white wines tasting alike. It was a common complaint years ago, one which many wine list makers believed. Maybe 20-30 years ago the nuance of the flavors didn’t jump out so much like a buttery Chardonnay or a grassy Sauvignon Blanc. But that was a claim I never believed and for sure one I never bought into.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YTMynWdoIeA/VVkjLaytj_I/AAAAAAAAhag/7QQhMJtfj10/s1600/DSC_7652bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YTMynWdoIeA/VVkjLaytj_I/AAAAAAAAhag/7QQhMJtfj10/s400/DSC_7652bw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />How could I? Does a Cortese di Gavi in any way resemble a Grillo? Does Verdicchio stand in at the altar for Vermentino? Is Friulano virtually identical to Fiano? Not to this one they aren’t, any of them. Those six wines couldn’t be more different. <br /><br />Yes, Gavi and Grillo can be high in acid. Yes, Verdicchio and Vermentino can share a roundness of flavor. And yes, Friulano and Fiano (especially one from Apulia) can have a fullness that to the untrained palate might seem that they are in the same family. But just like an Italian from Friuli and one from Apulia are unique and different in their own ways, so too are their wines. <br /><br />But what was it, back then 20-30 years ago and even now, that some folks still think these wines are simple, interchangeable cookie-cutter wines that have no difference among them? Is it the person who is making the statement? Or is it the wine?<br /><br />It might be that some people have expectations of bigger, bolder flavors. And there are those who make up wine lists who fall into that category. Perhaps their clientele do as well; although, I see no compelling evidence that diners in New Orleans, San Francisco, Houston or Chicago have a regional palate, a preference for one type of wine or another. Maybe years ago, when the supply lines were more restricted. But now when people travel as much as they do, and wines from everywhere can be found in the most remote towns in America, I think that old paradigm is probably ready for retirement.<br /><br />It might be useful to take these six wines and taste them together, in a blind and controlled setting, to see if they really are all alike.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3L0MFEvykFI/VVkjI9BQo8I/AAAAAAAAhaM/kf8StCPIYkk/s1600/DSC_7463bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3L0MFEvykFI/VVkjI9BQo8I/AAAAAAAAhaM/kf8StCPIYkk/s400/DSC_7463bw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>That brings me to a story I have wanted to tell for years on this blog. It must have been in the late 1980’s – early 1990’s. I was invited to a palace for a dinner and a tasting with the producers of the Tuscan white wine then known as Galestro. I believe there were 17 producers at the dinner, and we had all 17 of their wines. Galestro, at the time, was thought to be the “White Chianti,” a wine that could do what Vernaccia do San Gimignano couldn’t. Whatever that was. There were high hopes for Galestro, with wineries like Antinori leading the charge for this wine.<br /><br />We had Galestro with appetizers. We had Galestro with pasta. With fish. With pork. And with dessert. And at the end, it was quite funny. At my table, of which there were two or three producers, we all looked at each other and said “Well, I guess we don’t have to do that ever again.” It was more like the wake for Galestro than its coming out party. And eventually, not long after, Galestro disappeared into history. A wine that there were high hopes for, but one that never quite cleared the bar.<br /><br />So, yes, there are Italian white wines that might not rise to the level of a Chardonnay from Burgundy. But there are meals I have had in Burgundy that will never rise to the level of meals I have had in Italy. Italian wine, red or white, is infinitely interwoven with the local culture from which it springs. A Frascati in Rome seems like such a better idea than to have a Frascati in Alba. And in Liguria, where you find those squiggly little sea snail things they serve in a rich warm coral red soup, it’s just better to have a Pigato than perhaps a Muller-Thurgau. So perhaps the uniqueness of the food and the wine that has grown up with it might give the untrained palate the idea that these wines are interchangeable. But sit down with a table full of Italians, who have had their palates honed for centuries more than our new American palate, and you might get a passionate argument. Mind you it will be a delicious one, but there will be no deference towards exchanging their wine for an over extracted Carneros Chardonnay. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c7AyEYRF20w/VVkjLJJyt5I/AAAAAAAAhac/YhSXxLX3jIo/s1600/DSC_5664bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c7AyEYRF20w/VVkjLJJyt5I/AAAAAAAAhac/YhSXxLX3jIo/s400/DSC_5664bw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Are most Italian white wines “ponderable?” No, of course not. They are serviceable, though and they are accessible. Does that make them simple, anemic monolithic creatures? I guess one could consider the eye of the beholder in responding to this question. But from my perch, they offer pleasure, first and foremost, and satisfaction. Does a young Pinot Bianco from Alto-Adige cause me to soul search? Of course not. But it also doesn't cause me to get up and get another bottle because the oak is too heavy for the oysters or the fried okra. <br /><br />So, to the chap who thinks all Italian white wines taste alike, I submit this is one of those subjects when we will have to agree to disagree. And while I lament that your clients will lose this opportunity to try a Catarratto with the sword fish, inside I am a bit giddy that there will be more for me and my kind to enjoy in our life. There are so many things that have become unaffordable or no longer attainable or just too darn important for those who grew up drinking them. Italian white wines will never price themselves out of my income level. And with few exceptions ( like our dear long gone friend Galestro) there are so many different types of Italian white wine out there to try that I will never tire of them or get bored with their alleged “sameness.”<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3g70qy9odtw/VVkjWipDmiI/AAAAAAAAhas/CR4Eo1wUUQo/s1600/old%2Bwine%2Bfest%2Bphoto%2Bburnedbw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3g70qy9odtw/VVkjWipDmiI/AAAAAAAAhas/CR4Eo1wUUQo/s400/old%2Bwine%2Bfest%2Bphoto%2Bburnedbw.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;"><i>Photo from Cantina Soave archives</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed <span style="color: #666666;"><i>(unless otherwise noted)</i></span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/05/all-italian-white-wines-taste-alike.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-766774991262140507Fri, 15 May 2015 11:30:00 +00002015-05-23T17:43:05.762-05:00Counter-Lust in Austin: A Seductive New Dining Spot in Texas<i>No Tables. No Servers. No Tipping. </i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--qbZjsFS7lI/VVX6ORkzUAI/AAAAAAAAhNI/xmijq1PV2cs/s1600/counter%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--qbZjsFS7lI/VVX6ORkzUAI/AAAAAAAAhNI/xmijq1PV2cs/s400/counter%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">L</span></span>et’s see, where have I been? Monday, it was in San Francisco. Tuesday, back in Dallas. Wednesday? Houston. And Thursday found me in Austin, Texas. Hopping around from city to city via plane, car and Uber, I’m playing road warrior again this month. My travel schedule is insane, but right now being on the road feels like the right thing. And occasionally (actually, often) I find myself poised in front of brilliance. Whether it is listening to Darrell Corti, Tim Gaiser and Shelley Lindgren wax eloquently about Chianti Classico, or Alois Lageder explain with a deeply back-lit gleam in his eye about his transformation from grower to bio-dynamic guru, right now I feel like one lucky fellow. But those are vanity posts for another day. I’m currently smitten with a little new place in Austin, and one you should get yourselves to, A.S.A.P., before it becomes the hardest seat to get in Texas. And I’m betting it won’t be long before that happens.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />I happened upon <a href="http://www.counter3fivevii.com/" target="_blank">Counter 3.FIVE.VII</a> a few weeks ago. Not having a reservation and arriving a bit late, the hostess asked the kitchen if they could squeeze in one more diner. It was only 8:45, I didn’t have a reservation, and the 25ish seat counter wasn’t fully occupied (n.b. the kitchen closes at 9). My radar shot up and I saw a chef in the kitchen give an affirmative sign, so I thought, why not, let’s give this place a shot.<br /><br />Jason Huerta is the beverage director, whom I knew from Dallas, and is one of the brightest young wine professionals in the country (<i>How’s that for a p.r. popping proclamation, <a href="http://dobianchi.com/" target="_blank">Dr, P</a>?</i>). The first night I was there, Jason was home sick. But, as a sign of his leadership (and the "1 Team - 1 Dream" staff) , the beverage program was brilliantly handled in his absence.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vxAZHeLyb4o/VVX8IzsRNkI/AAAAAAAAhNY/02NO4dVqSCM/s1600/seafood%2Bstew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="335" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vxAZHeLyb4o/VVX8IzsRNkI/AAAAAAAAhNY/02NO4dVqSCM/s400/seafood%2Bstew.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seafood Stew - Saffron, Ocean Consomme, Seafood Garniture</td></tr></tbody></table>I sat down and had the 3 course menu (the restaurant has a 3, a 5 and a 7 course fixed menu, with or without wine matching). It started with a seafood stew that simultaneously sent&nbsp; me to San Francisco, Porto d’Ascoli and New Orleans, crowned me king and saw me off on a blazing royal raft towards Heaven. Or was it Hell? It didn’t matter, if this was my last meal on Earth, so be it. Yep, it was that damn good.<br /><br />Mind you, I’ve dined around, so I can be a bit jaded. And Austin, which I love, is growing into a city where dining has come from fast casual, flip-flop trendy, slowly, to the more serious cuisine than one finds readily in cities like San Francisco, New York, Houston, Paris, Rome, you get my drift? I’m all for being the cheerleader, but if you’re going for 3 star Michelin, you gotta play like you’re in the big leagues. That kind of dining is evolving from the first time I walked down Congress in the early 1980’s.<br /><br />My Uber driver Patrick put it this way, “Ever since the Circuit of the America’s (race track) opened, Austin has been transformed. We’re getting a lot more international visitors.” He said this as we were driving down Congress, the main drag in Austin.When he let me off, he pointed to a group of Chinese tourists taking selfies next to a large guitar on the walkway. “See what I mean?” he said, as I headed into Counter 3.FIVE.VII to meet my clients.<br /><br />Yeah, Austin is getting all “growed up” and along with it comes a deeper commitment to food, not just as something to fill the belly, but as a first world existential polemic. Food can be as political as, say, politics. But it can be so much more delicious. And combined with the seamless wine matching that a lad such a Jason Huerta has devised, well, it makes life ever so much more beautiful.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rRmAk50f6oE/VVX88HRKdsI/AAAAAAAAhNk/hvdY2y2a6HA/s1600/counter%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rRmAk50f6oE/VVX88HRKdsI/AAAAAAAAhNk/hvdY2y2a6HA/s400/counter%2B2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>All this to say – get your butts into one of those seats at Counter 3.FIVE.VII, before those seats become an unattainable wish. <br /><br />First off, the food is healing. It is beautifully presented, and one can see the loving care they put into each dish, as there you are, sitting around their kitchen watching all the busy bees at work. The seats are comfortable (and this is coming from one who normally eschews “high chairs”). The music is wonderfully eclectic, in a way that Austin shines. I tried to imagine this restaurant in San Francisco. First, it would be much, more expensive. Next it would already be impossible to find a seat at. And then there is that laid-back Austin style, a “New Texas” evolution that isn’t so self-conscious. There’s still a healthy dose of self-deprecation among the workers. It’s like they actually are surprised that one would like the place so much. But as one who does dine “around” the world, I’m good with a little innocence around the edges. It’s healthy.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eKn0cLcm4FE/VVYKCGprjAI/AAAAAAAAhOU/6gH2dL2VnfA/s1600/risotto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eKn0cLcm4FE/VVYKCGprjAI/AAAAAAAAhOU/6gH2dL2VnfA/s320/risotto.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;Koshihikari "Risotto" - Stinging Nettles, Smoked Pork Jowl, Crème Fraîche</td></tr></tbody></table>Executive Chef and partner Lawrence Kocurek was animated the second time I dined here. A mellow guy, he brought out many of the dishes himself. He’s also pretty busy as the restaurant garden-to-table provider. Many of the herbs and vegetables come from his garden at home. Nice touch, from one who dines regularly from the home garden. Texas is a great place to grow food, not just meat. And right now, veggies and herbs are bright and full of energy. And that kind of energy in food, as well as being delicious, can be healing. <br /><br />Look, I’m not talking enough about the food. And I apologize for that. I’ll leave that to the Bill Addison’s of the world, who have a greater vocabulary and wordsmith skills. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L8-UxVD2zXM/VVYENqLwDsI/AAAAAAAAhN8/_zPehQlEsMU/s1600/jason%2Bh%2Bdyptich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L8-UxVD2zXM/VVYENqLwDsI/AAAAAAAAhN8/_zPehQlEsMU/s400/jason%2Bh%2Bdyptich.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jason Huerta today (L) and (R) Texsom 2011 "Texas Best Sommelier" chatting w/Serge Hochar</td></tr></tbody></table>But I will brag on Jason Huerta’s matches. There was one dish that Jason seemed particularly vexed with matching. It was Langue de boeuf "Beef Tongue" with Bitter Greens, Oysters and Burnet leaf. Jason told our party, “I originally paired it with a Rhone red, but I wanted a touch of American oak. I found this Rioja; I’m hoping you all think it’s a good match. Let me know what you think.” Yes, Jason, you nailed it. From the first course with a Friulano, to the Rioja, followed by a positively out of this world Assyrtiko and then an Australian Mourvedre “Baby Bush” from Hewitson (“I love all the wines these folks make.”). And the killer surprise at the end, with the unbearably light dessert, a nebulous sake, Rihaku "Dreamy Clouds", Tokubetsu Junmai Nigori.<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">The five course wine and food pairing we had: <br /><br />I. Rainbow Trout Roe, Roasted Hazelnut, Asparagus<br /><i>+ Friulano Villa Chiopris - Friuli-Venezia Giulia, Italy</i><br />II. Langue de boeuf "Beef Tongue" - Bitter Greens, Oysters, Burnet<br /><i>+ Beronia Rioja Reserva, Spain</i><br />III. Octopus - Japanese Sweet Potato, Bok Choy, House Lap Cheong<br /><i>+ Assyrtiko, Argyros - Santorini, Greece</i><br />IV. Duck - Turnip, Black Garlic, Crawfish, Alliums<br /><i>+ Mourvedre “Baby Bush”, Hewitson - Barossa Valley, Australia</i><br />V. Flavors of Sake - Khao Mahk - Pineapple, Coconut, Cream Soda<br /><i>+ Rihaku "Dreamy Clouds", Tokubetsu Junmai Nigori - Shimane, Japan </i></blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HUwDcLU7V7g/VVYYUFiS1HI/AAAAAAAAhOk/4ccx8iHm1OM/s1600/flavors%2Bof%2Bsake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HUwDcLU7V7g/VVYYUFiS1HI/AAAAAAAAhOk/4ccx8iHm1OM/s320/flavors%2Bof%2Bsake.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look at clouds from both sides now - Khao Mahk</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Owner, CEO and Dreamweaver Eric Earthman cuts an imposing figure among the delicately tweezed micro-greens. But Eric has the put the right touches on a place that should become a destination dining spot from food lovers from all over America, not just Austin or even Texas. The food is that good.<br /><br />At the end of our five courses one of the guests lamented that the dinner was already over. An Italian, she wasn’t someone to be easily impressed. “Oh well, the next time I’m in Austin, I better come back here and try the seven course meal,” she allowed, if only to compensate for having to get on a plane and go to the next city, the next presentation and hopefully the next meal.<br /><br />Eric, Lawrence, Jason and the whole team at Counter 3.FIVE.VII, we’ll be back soon. And I will tell anyone and everyone to get to your counter. In the meantime, don’t forget about me when you do become the hottest seat in Texas, save me a chair in the corner, will ya please? I’ll be back.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--FpKESgC4sE/VVX9OISLyqI/AAAAAAAAhNs/LVXQqrBz0xA/s1600/counter%2Blast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--FpKESgC4sE/VVX9OISLyqI/AAAAAAAAhNs/LVXQqrBz0xA/s400/counter%2Blast.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://www.counter3fivevii.com/" target="_blank">COUNTER 3. FIVE. VII </a> <br />Instagram page: <a href="https://instagram.com/counter3fivevii/" target="_blank">HERE</a><br />phone: 512-291-3327<br />315 Congress Ave. Ste. 100<br />Austin, Texas 78701<br /><br />HOURS<br />Open Tuesday-Saturday <br />Wine and Charcuterie Bar 4pm-11pm <br />Chef's Counter 5pm-9pm <br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span><br /><i><span style="font-size: small;">Photos I, III, VI &amp; VII are from the restaurant's website&nbsp;</span></i> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/05/counter-culture-in-austin-one-of.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-7537987714930734349Mon, 11 May 2015 00:55:00 +00002015-05-11T08:39:13.403-05:00Chianti for the Commoner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n25xZ2Jegio/VU_7zaXoOiI/AAAAAAAAhFw/L9-6fEO9OtY/s1600/grape%2Bcarrier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n25xZ2Jegio/VU_7zaXoOiI/AAAAAAAAhFw/L9-6fEO9OtY/s400/grape%2Bcarrier.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“W</span></span>hen will you talk about it?” My friend was pouring me a Sangiovese, in purezza, leaning in. “You and I discussed it over a year ago. Isn’t it time yet?” Raffaella, my Tuscan confidant in purezza, was pressing me to come in out of the rain and spill it.<br /><br />“Ok, I promise to get into it at the next possible opportunity.” But I wasn’t looking for a fight or controversy. I’d had enough of that from the <a href="http://www.acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/why-this-might-be-our-last-vinitaly-in.html" target="_blank">Vinitaly debacle</a>. It really should be something more intimate, like a letter. After all it is a communication among friends. But it is a conversation that needs to be opened up to more than me and my Tuscan confidant. A letter form, that feels right. It’s more personal. <br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HNI7n_PX1OY/VU_9c4kQYQI/AAAAAAAAhGI/OV28vY3ePOw/s1600/open%2Bdoor%2Bat%2Bwinery%2Bin%2Btuscany_felsina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HNI7n_PX1OY/VU_9c4kQYQI/AAAAAAAAhGI/OV28vY3ePOw/s400/open%2Bdoor%2Bat%2Bwinery%2Bin%2Btuscany_felsina.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Dear Raffaella,<br /><br />Even though you don’t live in the classic zone for Chianti, we now address this. Not that this is directed to you. If it were, it would be a private message. As is, we have had this talk, many times, over the years. But the world wasn’t listening. At least the world we know and the world that knows us. <br /><br />What is this little problem with our Sangiovese? Isn’t it a little like our society? We have the famous ones and the unknown ones. We have the large and the small. We have the important and the insignificant. We have the left and we have the right. We have the self-proclaimed and we have the humble ones. What we don’t have is any sense of consistency, a connection of sorts, between the high classic and the common place Chianti. And the problem, to make matters more complicated, the perception of Sangiovese , as Chianti, is distorted.<br /><br />Popularity is partially to blame. Profit also. It’s such an easy mark, to bottle a wine, whether in a folkloric bottle like the straw covered fiasco, or to deliver it in a deeply punted and over-weighted dark glass, as a most serious kind of affair. What’s inside? Isn’t that what we are seeking? The inner soul of Chianti? <br /><br />A man worked all his life, came up from humble beginnings, had many, many challenges in life. And then he made it. Big. Multi-millions in value and as much in the bank and in land wealth. He was a simple man. But his wine was far from simple. And not accessible to everyone.<br /><br />A family plowed with wooden plows and oxen. The floor where they ate was dirt. They were unassuming. But they were sitting on a gold mine. It just took hundreds of years for the gold to surface up, in the form of red, liquid, savory Sangiovese. And then, what? Then the wine flowed and the prices rose and the bank accounts grew, like the estates and the boats, and the homes in, California, Florida, Rome, Sardegna, Liguria.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFxz1DP22Is/VU_7ym5vNHI/AAAAAAAAhFs/vVGrj7AYaZ0/s1600/DSC00681sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFxz1DP22Is/VU_7ym5vNHI/AAAAAAAAhFs/vVGrj7AYaZ0/s400/DSC00681sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>There are scores of stories like this. But how does this address wine for the common folk, who do not come from a royal or noble family. Wine that is still wholesome and true, and available to people who aren’t tycoons? That’s the windmill I’m tilting toward today, dear Raffaella.<br /><br />Tomorrow we will hear speeches about the different zones of Chianti; will they be called sub-zones, as if they are sub-par? I object to that term. But it isn’t the crux of the crisis that Chianti is in right now. <br /><br />And will we hear lofty proclamations about the new elevated status for Chianti, Gran Selezione? Yes, it is the darling little soccer ball right now. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1dS4ZGT_bMw/VU_70JV7pNI/AAAAAAAAhF4/M3TOwn097K0/s1600/doors%2Bin%2Btuscany.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1dS4ZGT_bMw/VU_70JV7pNI/AAAAAAAAhF4/M3TOwn097K0/s400/doors%2Bin%2Btuscany.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Will we witness the dialectic between the traditionalists, the modernists and those in between, who are all striving for authenticity?<br /><br />And will we be subject, again, to the argument that one respects the time-honored practices from the past while dipping one’s toes in the infinity pool of modernity? All the while, making a great wine for cellars in the sky?<br /><br />But what about wine for the commoners, we the (little) people? What would it be? Can a patrician, a noble one, deign to make good, honest wine for the grass cutter, the window washer, the plumber or the servant?<br /><br />No doubt, in the tomorrow of the future, we won’t hear any more about it than we have in all of the tomorrows of yesterday. Wine for the commoner is becoming more and more uncommon. The man from humble beginnings has had a lot of time to think about where he came from. But the painful reality is that he no longer belongs to that world. He has become elevated, as has his wine. And he can no longer touch the ground in which he came from as easily, for the distance he might fall in reaching back might be fatal to his station in life. <br /><br />Hence, we are still wandering in the desert for the manna we call Sangiovese, searching for truth for all, for sustenance for the many and for availability for the common folk. Yes, Sangiovese might have sprung from the veins of an immortal, but for the commoner, the distance between Heaven and the castle is closer than the castle and the cottage in the village below.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vBUukcg8NAs/VU_2utbH2XI/AAAAAAAAhFc/Lr93VeqSwmQ/s1600/staircase%2Bin%2Btuscany.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vBUukcg8NAs/VU_2utbH2XI/AAAAAAAAhFc/Lr93VeqSwmQ/s320/staircase%2Bin%2Btuscany.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/05/chianti-for-commoner.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-2994428955778884366Mon, 04 May 2015 00:21:00 +00002015-05-03T22:33:16.496-05:00Italian Wine Appellations that are Downright Confounding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-os-aARg9bmQ/VUa5mcCLNNI/AAAAAAAAg2U/dqoRPMhk9Ss/s1600/mess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-os-aARg9bmQ/VUa5mcCLNNI/AAAAAAAAg2U/dqoRPMhk9Ss/s1600/mess.jpg" height="241" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></span>fter having spent most of April crisscrossing Texas in my covered wagon to teach hundreds of people about Italian wine, there were a few moments when I was scratching my head, wondering why I was teaching some of this stuff. The scores of DOCG wines, hundreds of IGT (P) wines and even more DOC (P). <br /><br />It was a simple comment in passing that started this. I was talking to an Italian and he said, “This Toscana IGT is a disaster. How can anyone make sense of it when you can have one for $4 and one for $400?” I noted the comment and moved back to my class presentation. But it stuck with me.<br /><br />Let’s take a look at a few of the denominations that cause me their fair share of <i>agita</i>.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z4Vz84jej_8/VUa23VmkCvI/AAAAAAAAg1s/OWzxNA5AYSs/s1600/terre%2Bsiciliane.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z4Vz84jej_8/VUa23VmkCvI/AAAAAAAAg1s/OWzxNA5AYSs/s1600/terre%2Bsiciliane.JPG" height="250" width="400" /></a></div><b>Terre Siciliane IGT</b><br /><br />Red, white, rosé, dry, sweet, still or sparkling. Blends or single varietal. Oh, and novello too. Whites from Ansonica to Zibbibo. Red, from Aglianico to Syrah. This looks like it came from kitchen-sink legislation, allowing for virtually anything from Sicily to fall under this denomination. Why? It’s not as if getting into this classifiaciton is going to get you more status. Look, Sicily produces a lot of wine, some say as much as Australia. And a lot of it is just good (better than it used to be, at least) everyday drinking wine. But Terre Siciliane is a small step for mankind. It looks more like it was intended for politicians to say back home to their constituents, “Look, I am protecting your investment. See what I did for you!” Yeah, right. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O2hoSUH0AJU/VUa24WDfjhI/AAAAAAAAg14/GDGYDdGPmfs/s1600/veneto.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O2hoSUH0AJU/VUa24WDfjhI/AAAAAAAAg14/GDGYDdGPmfs/s1600/veneto.JPG" height="232" width="400" /></a></div><b>Delle Venezie IGT</b><br /><br />This one wins the Trifecta. 17 million cases a year from three zones: Friuli–Venezia Giulia and Veneto, plus the entire province of Trento in Trentino–Alto Adige. White, rosé, red, and novella. Scores of white grapes, from Bianchetta Trevigiana to Welschriesling (Riesling Italico). Red too, from Ancellotta to Vespaiola. <br /><br />It’s the kind of denomination that master sommelier candidates would get as a “gotcha” question- question being “Which denomination carries over into three regions?”<br /><br />Not to be confused with the <a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/igp-veneto/" target="_blank">Veneto IGT</a> (Sorry, no Veneta IGT allowed). The Veneto IGT is fed by almost 13 million cases a year, with virtually the same grapes and types of wines allowed. I can’t make this stuff up. It’s the law. Look it up. And if that's not enough there is also a <a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/igp-veneto-orientale/" target="_blank">Veneto Orientale IGT</a>. They make up a paltry 140,000 cases. <br /><br />30 million cases, though - that's a lot of buying power.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WP2duyAuc8o/VUa23-nqvDI/AAAAAAAAg10/ARCRSxhXMoI/s1600/toscana.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WP2duyAuc8o/VUa23-nqvDI/AAAAAAAAg10/ARCRSxhXMoI/s1600/toscana.JPG" height="235" width="400" /></a></div><br /><b>Toscana IGT</b><br /><br />The one that started me down this rabbit hole with that brief (but memorable) conversation had last month. Also known as Toscano IGT, one and the same as Toscana IGT. Allowed wines are white, rosé, red, dry and sweet. And novello. White grapes allowed from Albarola to Welschriesling (Riesling Italico). Red grapes, from Aleatico to Vermentino Nero, including Teroldego. That’s right, you read correctly. Oh and, Nero d’Avola, Barbera, Muller-Thurgau and Roussanne. How terribly catholic of Tuscany, to include the little bastards from France, the Sicilians from the south and the Teutonic hordes from the north. An absolute mosh-pit of “anything goes.” Look on the bright side. If you are a creative type with sociopath tendencies and you like them dark and sweet, then Toscana IGT is the denomination for you. And if you want to make a $4 “Super Tuscan”, hey, guess what? You’re in luck too? And if you just couldn’t get into the Bolgheri DOC club and Val di Cornia just ain’t sexy enough for you, there you have it – Toscana IGT – to the rescue. And you can charge $400, why not? What a boon for winemaking.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BuUxNrvUJTw/VUa23VCe2hI/AAAAAAAAg1w/2sJ1p69dNk8/s1600/piemonte.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BuUxNrvUJTw/VUa23VCe2hI/AAAAAAAAg1w/2sJ1p69dNk8/s1600/piemonte.JPG" height="220" width="400" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: #444444;">Piemonte DOC</span> </b><br /><br />The powerful ones in Piedmont stopped the IGT movement at the borders of Lombardia and Liguria. Only DOC and DOCG’s allowed in their land. But, not to worry, the politicians there are busy at work devaluing their lofty denominated wines with the latest DOC – Piemonte. A catch all for wines that aren’t worthy of being called Barolo, Barbaresco, Barbera or even Nizza (the latest DOCG - #74 if you’re still counting). Someone must like it, because around 3 million cases a year call themselves Piemonte DOC, with grapes from Chardonnay to Sauvignon Blanc in the white grape category and red grapes Albarossa ( not to be confused with the white Albarola grape allowed in the Toscana IGT denomination) to Syrah (just like the one allowed in Terre Siciliane IGT). Lots of attention to terroir in this category, I guess. While it is a catch-all category, at least it hasn’t had to grovel down to the IGT category like Terre Siciliane IGT or Toscana IGT. The moral of the story? If you are going to be Syrah in Italy, it pays to grow up in Piedmont - at least you can grow up to be a DOC, or a DOP, if you are going to grow up to be an internationaliste.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e1ez9lg8W1w/VUa23PCtvTI/AAAAAAAAg1o/oZLiTx2UbEE/s1600/chianti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e1ez9lg8W1w/VUa23PCtvTI/AAAAAAAAg1o/oZLiTx2UbEE/s1600/chianti.jpg" height="216" width="400" /></a></div><br /><b>Chianti DOCG</b><br /><br />The whoopee cushion of all appellations – the Mother lode of swagger and pomposity. The “We were here first and we are not abdicating – not now – not ever” denomination. Oh and up until recently, to prove their provenance, they wouldn’t allow cork-closure alternatives, citing that it would cheapen the brand identity of Chianti. <br /><br />Now don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of Chianti wines I like. It’s just that most aren’t DOCG caliber. Chianti doesn’t need to cry wolf over screw tops, they’ve already shot themselves in the foot with any number of inferior red wines masquerading as one of only 74 DOCG wines allowed. While it should stand for higher quality, we all know this was also a political maneuver, driven by the wealthy and influential Tuscan oligarchy. Good on ‘em, I say. If you can’t please ‘em, squeeze ‘em. Squeeze ‘em dry.<br /><br />Yeah, that’s what has been occupying my rancid mind this past week. It ain’t pretty. But it’s better I talk about this than to really let my hair down. <br /><br />Don’t let your hair catch on fire over this one. This is just the tip of the DOCG/DOC/IGT iceberg. “It’s Italy, we’re used to it.” <br /><br />At least that’s what they say in Italy... in 2015.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lF9M5S5RyNM/VUa7U8FLBlI/AAAAAAAAg2g/YmTnE6aL7Jk/s1600/yes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lF9M5S5RyNM/VUa7U8FLBlI/AAAAAAAAg2g/YmTnE6aL7Jk/s1600/yes.jpg" height="221" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />further reading:<br /><a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/igp-terre-siciliane/" target="_blank">Terre Siciliane IGT</a><br /><a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/igp-delle-venezie/" target="_blank">Delle Venezie IGT</a> (and <a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/igp-veneto/" target="_blank">Veneto IGT</a>)<br /><a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/igp-toscano-toscana/" target="_blank">Toscana IGT (or Toscano IGT)</a><br /><a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/piemonte-doc/" target="_blank">Piemonte DOC</a><br /><a href="http://italianwinecentral.com/denomination/chianti-docg/" target="_blank">Chianti DOCG</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/05/italian-wine-appellations-that-are.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-3392044562830136892Sun, 26 Apr 2015 21:23:00 +00002015-04-26T16:23:59.457-05:00Sacrificing the Basics for Babel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5TA3Okk7d4Y/VT1TrqDv6YI/AAAAAAAAgqs/LLBfZ-dLqjk/s1600/AMC_1474smrev.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5TA3Okk7d4Y/VT1TrqDv6YI/AAAAAAAAgqs/LLBfZ-dLqjk/s1600/AMC_1474smrev.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></span>his weekend I listened to a panel of chefs from Texas who brought national attention to Southwest cuisine. They were <a href="http://www.rdgbarannie.com/about-rdg.php" target="_blank">Robert Del Grande</a>, <a href="http://fearingsrestaurant.com/team/dean-fearing/" target="_blank">Dean Fearing</a> and <a href="http://stephanpylesrestaurant.com/team/index.php?subaction=showfull&amp;id=1292946791&amp;archive=&amp;start_from=&amp;ucat=1&amp;" target="_blank">Stephan Pyles</a>, and we were at the <a href="http://www.buffalogapsummit.com/" target="_blank">Buffalo Gap Wine and Food Summit</a> at <a href="http://store.periniranch.com/" target="_blank">Perini Ranch</a> in West Texas. <br /><br />Robert Del Grande, who hails from Houston, said something that caught my ear. He said, “In the beginning, we were looking for ingredients that you couldn’t find in the supermarket.” Things like red bell peppers, chayote squash, heck, even cilantro, they couldn’t be found in the large stores. Here we were, a chef talking about a time 30+ years ago, telling us he was looking for something no one else had. <br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WFEQnmBw6XY/VT1PHSIKsoI/AAAAAAAAgp8/VT8IyD-VO4k/s1600/eggplant%2Bmeatball%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WFEQnmBw6XY/VT1PHSIKsoI/AAAAAAAAgp8/VT8IyD-VO4k/s1600/eggplant%2Bmeatball%2B1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>“And then, something changed. I started thinking that we went in the wrong direction. We should really be looking at was readily available, not the impossible, but the commonplace. To make food from the communal shelves, that was what we found in exotic places.”<br /><br />Indeed, if you go to a market in Mexico, you can find all the ingredients chefs work with in their area. Or if you walk along open markets of larger Sicilian towns and look at the offerings, there you will see what people are making in their homes and in the local eating spots. This search for the elusive and the exclusive is not a mania in well-developed cultures.<br /><br />But in America, we are still seeing this grasping for something no one else has. It is especially evident in today’s emerging wine professionals, who are looking for the next shiny thing. Assyrtiko is so yesterday. Gruner? It’s a goner. Who’s next to walk the plank, Trousseau or Touriga? There are endless new grapes and wines to “discover.” How far away from the basics must we veer before we find ourselves locked in our own personal tower of Babel, searching for all the unknowns, looking for something more exclusive, before we reach a dead-end? <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s2rydcy01Pc/VT1R4hAfcqI/AAAAAAAAgqg/1NvrjJIEWjM/s1600/sicilian%2Bwine%2Bmerchant%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s2rydcy01Pc/VT1R4hAfcqI/AAAAAAAAgqg/1NvrjJIEWjM/s1600/sicilian%2Bwine%2Bmerchant%2B1.jpg" height="400" width="262" /></a></div>Funny, this isn’t something new. The well-dressed somm set didn’t raise the funds, outfit the ships and sail off in search of the New World. This has been going on for ages, sometimes even circling back to some of the classics, gone so far out of popular favor that when they were sighted on a far horizon, they appeared to be as new and unusual as some of the more esoteric playthings of the day. Syrah, Chenin, Nebbiolo, they have benefited from being rediscovered again. <br /><br />But if you build a house out of bricks and live in an earthquake zone, if you don’t reinforce them, how long will they hold? Without the foundation and with the proper framework, it won’t last.<br /><br />I see that on some of today’s wine lists. It’s not that I don’t recognize esoteric wine from the Jura or the experimental orange wine from Friuli. But like Del Grande said, it is the readily available that challenges one more than the exotic. Sure it’s easy enough to compile a list that will garner tons of twitter comments and Instagram posts. What about a list that finds the great St. Emilion or the really classic Chianti? Is it because they already have been discovered by someone else?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jNv_Oc_n3vk/VT1RrVmWLrI/AAAAAAAAgqY/z4jh8ORTv1M/s1600/ancient%2Bsicilian%2Beatng%2Band%2Bdrinking%2Bimage%2Bfrom%2Btasca%2Blibrary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jNv_Oc_n3vk/VT1RrVmWLrI/AAAAAAAAgqY/z4jh8ORTv1M/s1600/ancient%2Bsicilian%2Beatng%2Band%2Bdrinking%2Bimage%2Bfrom%2Btasca%2Blibrary.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>A restaurant wine director walks into a retail store and mentions a wine by the glass had at a nearby restaurant. “I am pouring that by the glass as well. But I guess it’s time for me to take it off the by the glass list.” The retailer, a mentor to the young wine professionals in his town, looked at this person with some incredulity and said, “Why on earth would you do that? You thought enough about that wine to offer it by the glass. What about someone else liking it makes that wine a lesser thing now?” <br /><br />There really was no comeback. It was something to think about. <br /><br />In another setting, a producer of Chianti goes into an Italian-themed place and the wine director proceeds to tell the visiting producer that the wine list contains not one Chianti. Said wine director was proud of it, boasted of finding other things like Ciliegiolo and other wines. “Don’t need Chianti on the wine list.” The producer was dumb-founded. That must have been a long dinner.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TzLEg40Pwjk/VT1W11heMkI/AAAAAAAAgrI/Znf1ncqmOpE/s1600/pajata1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TzLEg40Pwjk/VT1W11heMkI/AAAAAAAAgrI/Znf1ncqmOpE/s1600/pajata1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>It’s as if basic means ordinary, pedestrian, common, uninteresting. And the more unusual wines, sometimes of a lesser quality, they get a pass because they are different, even if that merely means they really are inferior. Meanwhile, the classic wines are judged more harshly because of the neighborhood they came from and the success they have had over the years, regardless of their pedigree or the fastidiousness of their making.<br /><br />I think we are at a fulcrum, a turning point, where we might have reached the end of this kind of behavior. To use a wine list to display one’s aptitude for finding the obscure over the contentment of the guest, well that just flies in the face of why we are here: and that is to serve somebody. And that somebody is the folks who come in to escape the pressures of the day, to relax and to have a good experience. The same folks who provide the funds to keep these ships afloat. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-APXX4pUrxOY/VT1PkKUPQPI/AAAAAAAAgqE/3Z_Wvz0watY/s1600/rapitala%2Bharvest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-APXX4pUrxOY/VT1PkKUPQPI/AAAAAAAAgqE/3Z_Wvz0watY/s1600/rapitala%2Bharvest.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>I’d like to challenge wine directors, especially ones who focus on Italian wines, but not limited to that. The challenge is to find a way to make a wine list with less than 100 wines (preferably 50, no more) that will represent the best Italy has to offer and at the same time be a list that reflects the hard won battlefields of the classic wines that make up the building blocks of Italian wine. Find a killer Chianti that the most diehard Ciliegiolo fan will weep when he tastes it. Offer up a gorgeous Soave. Find us a delicious Prosecco that flies in the face of all the crappy Prosecco that is out there. Bring to our table a Nero D’Avola that isn’t trying to be New World and that isn’t trying to be so obnoxiously natural. Serve us up a Barbera that will make us forget about the hundreds of unknown grapes that you’re dying to teach us about. Make us cry with joy for a Brunello that is humble and precious and so stubbornly Tuscan that we rejoice in having rediscovered Sangiovese from Montalcino. Give us a Montepulciano from Abruzzo that doesn’t cost a gazillion bucks, and isn’t on Delectable every other day posted by an “influencer”, but is made by a honest farmer who works his fields, fields next to pastures where sheep graze, and the wine is rustic and brutally honest, and a joy to drink with friends, with families and even with the other strangers locked in the tower we are all trying to break out of.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OTLITNAejjk/VT1Vs_lOnNI/AAAAAAAAgq4/AMZJQVbotFM/s1600/SAM_7132sm%2Btower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OTLITNAejjk/VT1Vs_lOnNI/AAAAAAAAgq4/AMZJQVbotFM/s320/SAM_7132sm%2Btower.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed (In Italy and Sicily) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br />limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/04/sacrificing-basics-for-babel.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-8243100168811207369Sun, 19 Apr 2015 15:28:00 +00002015-04-22T08:38:12.217-05:00What young Americans can learn from an old German ~ The Rudi Wiest register<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Tzleu0Wocw/VTOy38Do0ZI/AAAAAAAAgas/LJol85DqsA8/s1600/SAM_9724sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Tzleu0Wocw/VTOy38Do0ZI/AAAAAAAAgas/LJol85DqsA8/s1600/SAM_9724sm.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">R</span></span>udi Wiest will turn 79 this year. But as he likes to say, “I have a long ways to go to catch up with your mom. She’s going to be 101 this year, yes?” Older people have a different conception of time than younger ones. The younger ones have been young all their life, and they likely think they will be for the rest of their time on earth. “I used to think that too,” my almost 101 year old mom once told me. “And then I turned 40. And then 50. 60. 70. 80. And so on. And now I have been older for most of my life than young. That’s just the way it is.” And so it was this last week, I tooled around Texas in a very large SUV with two young guys and an even younger soon-to-be 79 year old<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />To say Rudi is a force of nature is to press an overused cliché upon us all. “I’m old,” I heard him say more than once. In fact, too often. In some form, you’re neither old nor young. You’re simply alive or dead. And Rudi is very much alive.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71jJW89_HuI/VTOy3Og0zoI/AAAAAAAAgac/Cei-sJMyDMI/s1600/SAM_9689sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71jJW89_HuI/VTOy3Og0zoI/AAAAAAAAgac/Cei-sJMyDMI/s1600/SAM_9689sm.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>Is there anything he doesn’t know about jazz? If there is I wouldn’t be able to tell you. His knowledge of jazz is encyclopedic, only rivaled by his knowledge of the wines of Germany. I cannot tell you how it feels, at this stage of my life, to sit in front of someone for four days and be tutored by a master. It is humbling. And it is invigorating. To have been on the wine trail for as long as I have and to feel there is something totally undiscovered in the wine world which is deep, intense and engaging, well it’s as if I turned back the clock and started all over again, this time with German, not Italian wines. It’s unlikely I, or very many of us, will ever reach the level of mastery that Rudi Wiest has with German wines. If post-World War II signaled the start of the golden age for wine, as I believe it did, Rudi was there in the early days to witness the transformation that many of us, old and young alike, take for granted. The quantum leap in winemaking, quality and selection wasn’t something that just happened. It was a factor of time, a progression, a development, that led to where we are now. And spending an hour or a day with Rudi will give you that sense that something really big has happened in the world of German wine.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_rTo6znYeg/VTO62Z2Z5mI/AAAAAAAAgbc/cHbFnPlF2eU/s1600/rudi%2Bgroup%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_rTo6znYeg/VTO62Z2Z5mI/AAAAAAAAgbc/cHbFnPlF2eU/s1600/rudi%2Bgroup%2B1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zL3bEs3J4TA/VTO62JfsI9I/AAAAAAAAgbY/YNSYCty61rA/s1600/rudi%2Bgroup%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zL3bEs3J4TA/VTO62JfsI9I/AAAAAAAAgbY/YNSYCty61rA/s1600/rudi%2Bgroup%2B2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>To those lucky (and humble) enough to have had the opportunity to be led in his seven flight, 20 wine tasting this week, in Austin, in Houston and in Dallas, what we saw and tasted literally put one’s perception of German wine on its head. Gone are the Blue Nuns and the Black towers, the Zeller Schwarze Katz, even the Piesporters. Hello to classic method sparkling wines to rival Champagne itself. Get to know dry white wines from single vineyards that will give Burgundy a run for their money. And while you’re at it, the same with Pinot Noir. “Look out Volnay,” Rudi likes to say. And if you really must insist on the “sweets”, as Rudi calls them, how about a 20 year old with acidity that will recharge your batteries better than a double espresso. We are talking about wine, by the way.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nh-qi-15zKc/VTOy4cP61XI/AAAAAAAAga8/gKuxjoyP6tc/s1600/SAM_9729sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nh-qi-15zKc/VTOy4cP61XI/AAAAAAAAga8/gKuxjoyP6tc/s1600/SAM_9729sm.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>I’m a stranger in Paradise with these wines, and I’m loving it. And from the looks of things, there is a young crowd of wine directors and sommeliers who do too. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QcEm79Gb7oQ/VTOy3m77XAI/AAAAAAAAgak/6bkj8JkFStI/s1600/SAM_9711sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QcEm79Gb7oQ/VTOy3m77XAI/AAAAAAAAgak/6bkj8JkFStI/s1600/SAM_9711sm.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>No, I’m not abandoning my beloved Langhe. I’m not turning my back on the Tuscan sun. Sicily needs not worry, nor does the Adriatic coast with the Marche and Abruzzo. I’m just doing my due diligence. Expanding my horizons. Blowing up my preconceptions. And having a great time along the way.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2A3gOZriuc/VTOy2w4KZkI/AAAAAAAAgaY/drTsbFLy5qQ/s1600/SAM_9694sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2A3gOZriuc/VTOy2w4KZkI/AAAAAAAAgaY/drTsbFLy5qQ/s1600/SAM_9694sm.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>If you ever get the chance to spend any amount of time with Rudi Wiest, I urge you to do so. Don’t let formalities stop you. Barge right in; insist that you are given a place at a tasting, even if it is standing-room only. And if you are invited and you let the busy-ness of your day prevent you from making it in time, remind yourself never to let that happen again. Rudi might make it to 101, like my mom, but why gamble on it? It’s a big world, and there are lots of people tugging on him to sit with them, taste and learn about the history of German wines in the greatest era wine has ever known. Word.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ouHHIknuAak/VTOy4nAnkDI/AAAAAAAAga0/x6DAew5kClY/s1600/rudi%2Bteaching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ouHHIknuAak/VTOy4nAnkDI/AAAAAAAAga0/x6DAew5kClY/s1600/rudi%2Bteaching.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> <br /><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/04/what-young-americans-can-learn-from-old.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-2792649005228194276Sun, 12 Apr 2015 14:33:00 +00002015-04-13T11:11:25.792-05:00Making the Case for Darker Rosė Wines ~ Countering the "Brangelina" Effect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTepJgGuDZ0/VSpo_5JUJ4I/AAAAAAAAgIk/HGjm03hIhQI/s1600/light%2Bred%2Bvs%2Brose.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTepJgGuDZ0/VSpo_5JUJ4I/AAAAAAAAgIk/HGjm03hIhQI/s1600/light%2Bred%2Bvs%2Brose.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span>n no small way, we all need to thank the Perrin family (and Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie) for resuscitating the rosė wine category. Before the phenomenon of Miraval, rosė wines were in the crapper. More often than not, aged rosė wines sat in warehouses and on store shelves dying a slow death. No matter how many articles that came out, in blogs, in magazines, and in newspapers, the numbers didn’t look good.I know, because I was tracking them. And it wasn't pretty.<br /><br />Then Perrin (and Brangelina) said “Let there be light.” And it was a game changer. Now wineries all up and down France and across to Italy, in Spain, in California and all over the world are chasing the ethereal, elusive onion skin color for their wines. And for good reason. Miraval is kicking ass in the sales department.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>But. Wait.<br /><br />There are some of us who still like the deeply colored rosė (or light red) wines. And Italy has such a wonderful group of wines, from Alto-Adige to Sicily, that are fuller, richer and really shouldn’t be scuttled to the dust bin of history because the fashion is for paler colored rosė wines. And while this is definitely a contrarian view and one very much out of fashion, in the last month I have tasted some lovely and table worthy rosė wines, let’s say ones with a bit more of a tan than their Provençal cousins. It feels like I have written this post before. Let’s dive in.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lWvEiMDeus4/VSpuRsGuwTI/AAAAAAAAgJI/uAraAvOBQiA/s1600/lageder%2Brose%2Blagrein.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lWvEiMDeus4/VSpuRsGuwTI/AAAAAAAAgJI/uAraAvOBQiA/s1600/lageder%2Brose%2Blagrein.jpg" height="320" width="302" /></a></div><b>Lagrein Rosė</b> – from Alto-Adige, often thought to be the land of rich, minerally-driven white wines. But red wine is made is healthy doses. This producer, Lageder, makes scores of different wines. But one of my favorites from their stable is the Lagrein rosė. The wine is deeply colored, can take a little more bottle age, and will develop like a red wine. Not too long, but if you see a 2011 on a wine list, grab it. Currently the 2013 is in release, while the 2014 takes a little more time to come around. There is no rush to grab the summer of 2105 rosė market, that elusive selling period in America between Memorial day (end of May) and Labor Day ( beginning of September). Fruit, acid, even a little but tannic, with spice and body and character. I’ve had this wine in the dead of winter with a rich stew. For white wine lovers, this is a great bridge to red without going “all the way.” <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D84cEXipcIc/VSppAjCRcLI/AAAAAAAAgIw/fBMptEChlRI/s1600/pelaverga%2B13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D84cEXipcIc/VSppAjCRcLI/AAAAAAAAgIw/fBMptEChlRI/s1600/pelaverga%2B13.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><b>Pelaverga</b> – technically not a rosė wine, but the color qualifies it for the light red tone of this post. And it works in the same situation That is, a wine with depth, with layers of flavor. Again a light red for folks who favor white wine. This wine finishes longer than the lighter rosė wines currently in fashion. Different target audience, for sure. But there might be a day when the light rosė drinker seeks to expand their drinking spectrum. Burlotto's Pelaverga, though made is rather small quantities, would be a nice stop on that expanded path.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nu6GXV5qPZQ/VSppAKK3VGI/AAAAAAAAgIo/nhJ13JtNEF4/s1600/vale%2Bvin%2Brose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nu6GXV5qPZQ/VSppAKK3VGI/AAAAAAAAgIo/nhJ13JtNEF4/s1600/vale%2Bvin%2Brose.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><b>Tuscany</b> has a good tradition of rosato wine. And Sangiovese is no shrinking violet when it comes to that category. While the lighter Provençal inspired style is sweeping the Tuscan coastline, there are still some darker rosės to consider. Valentina Bolla recently expanded the repertoire of her family winery, Poggio Verrano, to include this new experimental rosė, Vale in Rose. A very small amount of this has been made in 2014, mainly for friends and family. It’s a lovely wine, rich and full of flavor. Can it compete with Miraval? Did Sophia Loren ever need to worry about Bridgette Bardot? Can the world not allow for two different types of beauty? <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HbxMphYbpKU/VSpuRh8aEsI/AAAAAAAAgJM/mxEdYbK-gBo/s1600/frentana%2Bcerasuolo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HbxMphYbpKU/VSpuRh8aEsI/AAAAAAAAgJM/mxEdYbK-gBo/s1600/frentana%2Bcerasuolo.jpg" height="320" width="316" /></a></div><b>Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo</b> – Abruzzo has long had a tradition of deeper colored rosės. The spicy arrabbiata pasta I once had in the Marche Abruzzo border town of San Benedetto del Tronto infused in me a love for Cerasuolo d’ Abruzzo. Made from the Montepulciano grape, this is a good fix for folks who love fruit-driven red wines that are spicy but who want to power down from the big red when the weather is warm. Again, not so fashionable in the world of marketing. But one would never know that on the Adriatic coastal towns, where Cerasuolo flies off the tables.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tFZIUSmNng4/VSpwjF9F5eI/AAAAAAAAgJk/T2H7eZEXaLg/s1600/two%2Bmeat%2Bplate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tFZIUSmNng4/VSpwjF9F5eI/AAAAAAAAgJk/T2H7eZEXaLg/s1600/two%2Bmeat%2Bplate.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div><b>Sicily</b> makes anything and everything. And most of what they make they do it right, by my reckoning. One of my great pleasures is to drink Sicilian rosė in the summer, make that the relentless summer heat of Texas. We don’t stop eating Tex-Mex or our beloved Texas BBQ, and while tequila and beer are more prevalent with those kinds of foods, there are those of us slaves to the wine god who want wine. At the Tasca estate they make their Le Rose di Regaleali from Nerello Mascalese grapes in stainless steel tanks under the influence of partially macerated Nero ’d’Avola skins. The color is lighter or darker from year to year, but the 2014 has a deeper tan. <br /><br />Some folks might worry that this will affect the popularity of this wine vs. the more popular Provençal rosės. The reality is there is one leader, Miraval, which makes up so much of the sale of the lighter rosė wines, that no one will catch up. So let them go, let them introduce folks to the category. Like some of the White Zinfandel drinkers migrated to Pinot Noir, the hope is that we will catch the lighter rosė drinker when they, if they, choose to look deeper. <br /><br />That is the key to this particular set of rosė wine. Is it a stop along the road, or is it a delving in to find other wines, perhaps ones more profound? Is profundity something a rosė drinker cares for? Well, there are more than a few of us who love the deeper color, the richer flavors, and who care to drink them all year round. After all, we drink white wine throughout the year. Why not rosė as well?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M2aFDwHj0vU/VSqA3akMd9I/AAAAAAAAgJ0/xBIvF0ky-Yc/s1600/rose%2Bregaleali1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M2aFDwHj0vU/VSqA3akMd9I/AAAAAAAAgJ0/xBIvF0ky-Yc/s1600/rose%2Bregaleali1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">written by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> <br /><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/04/making-case-for-darker-rose-wines.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-9004912721539619970Sun, 05 Apr 2015 14:33:00 +00002015-04-05T09:33:57.063-05:00Meditations on the '51<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w1BjqBZcrWM/VSE4ZEvFybI/AAAAAAAAf5k/laKxn-aBE3I/s1600/vista%2Bfrom%2Bla%2Bmorra%2BAMC_3862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w1BjqBZcrWM/VSE4ZEvFybI/AAAAAAAAf5k/laKxn-aBE3I/s1600/vista%2Bfrom%2Bla%2Bmorra%2BAMC_3862.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></span>ooner or later we encounter the mirror. As much as we try, with makeup, with dye, with dark glasses and soft focus, time ultimately wins the race. The young ones look upon the older ones as something that is in the way or will ultimately be neutralized and discarded. Invisibility is a step along the way to annihilation. What the young ones don’t know (or don’t want to realize) is that they are on the same path as the elders who are taking up space in the cellar. So it goes.<br /><br />We all have our ideas of what a unicorn wine is. That is, a wine that is rare, maybe not the greatest of the great, but when one encounters such a creature, it is a special moment. I had such an meeting last month in the Langhe, in Barolo.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFnDJRqeHEw/VSE3aYlzN8I/AAAAAAAAf48/NopOqMA3rWo/s1600/51%2Bbarolo.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qFnDJRqeHEw/VSE3aYlzN8I/AAAAAAAAf48/NopOqMA3rWo/s1600/51%2Bbarolo.1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>For years I have read about wines from my birth year, 1951. Not a great year, according to Michael Broadbent. Maybe a Port, if one could even find such a remaining bottle. There was mention that the 1951 Beaulieu Vineyard "Georges de Latour Private Reserve" Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon was one of the greats. I got close, very close, to that one. It was in Ft. Worth, Texas, in the cellar of a North Texas gentleman. But I never got the chance. The gentleman got religion, sold his collection and the wine scattered to God knows where on earth. <br /><br />There has been talk that the 1951 vintage for Piedmont, and Barolo, was not bad. Not great, but still worth a search. I spy them from time to time in the cellars, but how does one go about asking the owners for a taste, for a glimpse back in time, to the time when we both were born?<br /><br />I was born a few months before Barolo 1951, and thousands of miles away, in the foothills that ring Southern California above Los Angeles. Barolo, in those days, had few paved roads. Wine was a rustic matter, an agricultural product. Not like the luxury item it is these days, especially wines from Barolo and the Langhe. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FNTifseUp5M/VSE3bzntsnI/AAAAAAAAf5I/XUkzKUgIJIE/s1600/51%2Bbarolo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FNTifseUp5M/VSE3bzntsnI/AAAAAAAAf5I/XUkzKUgIJIE/s1600/51%2Bbarolo.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>And so, when Anna and Valentina Abbona surprised me one late night around a candle lit table, with a bottle of their family wine, the Marchesi di Barolo, a 1951, I was a bit dumbfounded. I had built up the wine to be some kind of a more-than-special moment. The wine, it didn’t disappoint.<br /><br />Our group was trying all kinds of wines and the ’51 arrived before the dessert and the coffee. It was rather old, after all. Valentina handed me the bottle. “Here, you open it.” And there I was, confronted with the ghost in the mirror. <br /><br />The cork was firm. Nature’s little miracle. As I extracted it, I realized it probably had been re-corked. This wine had never moved more than a mile, if that, from the place of its birth. A stark contrast from Mr. Million-Miler who was examining the cork. Here we were, the two of us in a dimly lit room, so much in common and so much difference between us. It was like encountering an unknown twin, shielded from my knowledge, protective parents wanting to spare both of us the harsh reality of our co-existence. As if we found out about one another something unimaginable could, would, happen. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gDxYcK6CMU0/VSE3iCR5uNI/AAAAAAAAf5c/KgPaK55icEs/s1600/opening%2Bthe%2B51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gDxYcK6CMU0/VSE3iCR5uNI/AAAAAAAAf5c/KgPaK55icEs/s1600/opening%2Bthe%2B51.jpg" height="310" width="320" /></a></div><br />But it wasn’t like that at all. It was rather a peaceful encounter. The cork came out, the wine was poured, not decanted, and it was wine. Good wine. Very good wine.<br /><br />The color was light, as Nebbiolo should be. I remember the aroma was classic Nebbiolo. It was full of fruit. The tannins were softened by a lifetime of sleeping in the dark, in the cool. <br /><br />How must it be to have one purpose, and that is to rest up for 63+ years, only to finally be opened in a party and enjoyed? That has to be a pretty meaningful life, at least in a hedonistic interpretation. But all those years lying in wait, dozing and dreaming, while the human counterpart ran across the planet seeking life and love and happiness, encountering all that plus grief, sadness, failure along with all the minor triumphs that make life bearable.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bEDg8EWm1TE/VSE3cDOsi6I/AAAAAAAAf5M/SCIikYx0F2E/s1600/AMC_3902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bEDg8EWm1TE/VSE3cDOsi6I/AAAAAAAAf5M/SCIikYx0F2E/s1600/AMC_3902.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>And which life appears to have more meaning? For the bottle of Barolo, I think its life was perfect. It was born, it rested, waited, matured, and in the end it gave all manner of joy and pleasure to those around the table, who didn’t realize they were attending its coming out party. It became part of all of us, and then is slipped into the Greater River. <br /><br />As for its human counterpart? Well, the verdict is still out on that soul. Time will ultimately tell. But unlike the bottle of ’51, he’s still begging for a little more time. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zcyKANDZJJo/VSE40ayXCnI/AAAAAAAAf5s/osIWcniN3uM/s1600/wine%2Bbin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zcyKANDZJJo/VSE40ayXCnI/AAAAAAAAf5s/osIWcniN3uM/s1600/wine%2Bbin.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/04/meditations-on-51.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-56311719510688986Sun, 29 Mar 2015 20:53:00 +00002015-04-03T07:53:09.302-05:00The Penetrating Magic of Burlotto<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vp-YJEGTGok/VRhJqu4bi2I/AAAAAAAAfwo/rQhOdbIyNIY/s1600/burlotto%2Bchamber%2Boffice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vp-YJEGTGok/VRhJqu4bi2I/AAAAAAAAfwo/rQhOdbIyNIY/s1600/burlotto%2Bchamber%2Boffice.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">R</span></span>unning into Fabio Alessandria in the Piedmont Hall at Vinitaly, he called me by my name. How he remembered I cannot imagine. But in such a hectic place and day, it was a welcome salutation. We made plans to come by his family winery, C<a href="http://www.burlotto.com/it/" target="_blank">omm. G.B. Burlotto</a> in Verduno, when we arrived back to the Langhe after the wine fair.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />The drive from Verona to La Morra was punctuated by a steady rain and a GPS malfunction. We found ourselves barreling towards Parma, having missed the turnoff at Piacenza. We finally arrived 90 minutes longer than we had anticipated. It had been a lopsided few days, and as tired as we all were, Piedmont was steady, calm and quiet. A needed respite.<br /><br />The day after Vinitaly everyone has a hangover. Not from drink, but from the frenetic pace and saturation of the senses. <br /><br />Fabio met us at his gate at 9:30 AM. I’d been to taste before with him, in the little deconsecrated chapel on the edge of the property in Verduno. But I’d never stepped behind the curtain. There are so many people to get excited about visiting in Piedmont. Burlotto, for me, is way up there on my list.<br /><br />I don’t know what it is. Yes I do. The wines are simple. They are truthful. They are accessible to folks other than multi-millionaires. And they are gorgeous. <br /><br />Fabio can be self-deprecating. I think he feels his English isn’t good enough. It is. In fact, he uses the English language better than many native speakers. He understands the roots of the language. It might be his nature, to get to the essence of the subject he is dwelling on. Fabio could have been a monk, centuries earlier, toiling away in some dark cell with a candle and a quiver, working endlessly on illuminated manuscripts. Thankfully for all of us, his work, this time, is to make wine in an illuminated manner. His wines have that special kind of unfathomable allure one seeks out in wines from the Langhe, or anywhere, for that matter.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcx4pXIgKPw/VRhJtJOvZXI/AAAAAAAAfww/qP-CFmCIdgE/s1600/burlotto%2Bbarrels%2Band%2Bcorks%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcx4pXIgKPw/VRhJtJOvZXI/AAAAAAAAfww/qP-CFmCIdgE/s1600/burlotto%2Bbarrels%2Band%2Bcorks%2B1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>At first blush, one could look at the winery and see a mess of a place. Barrels that seem to be in a state of disrepair. Doors, painted from another time. Walls, stenciled in another era. The whole place looks like time passed it by. And indeed, some of the progress of time has. All the bling and glamour of more “important” wineries outshine this little cobweb of a winery in a forgotten town of Barolo. Verduno, looking like the back lot at Cinecitta where Sergio Leone filmed a gunfight scene for one of his many spaghetti westerns. Yeah, the place has character. It hasn’t been Disney-fied yet.<br /><br />Do you really come to these pages for the list of wines and their scores? You will be disappointed if you do. But there are some wines we had that day, which moved me.<br /><br />The 2013 Pelaverga – Pelaverga is a light red wine, a dark rosé color. A picnic wine, as Fabio likes to say. Or a wine with cheese, maybe with fish, or lighter food. With the warm weather heading our direction, the Burlotto Pelaverga is one of the wines that are a staple, not in the cellar, but in the fridge. Really lovely wine.<br /><br />From the 2013 vintage we also tried his Dolcetto d’Alba, Barbera d’Alba “Aves”, Langhe Freisa and Langhe Nebbiolo. Fabio noted that he believes the Freisa to be maybe a parent or a grandparent of modern day Nebbiolo. Piedmont and the Langhe, for a winemaker, is a toy-box full of goodies. Mono-varietal wines, all a little different, for unique settings or times of the year. These wines pulse with identity formed from the penetrating magic of Burlotto.<br /><br />And the larger-than-life mono-varietal – Barolo – at Burlotto one can taste wine like it was made when I first came to the Langhe. Fabio says his tastes and the tastes of his parents are similar, so the need to revise the style wasn’t necessary to his ego. And we all thank him for that. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tdeFdYupn7E/VRhKItcM6pI/AAAAAAAAfw4/fzHvuD4Ys5Y/s1600/burlotto_4%2Bwines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tdeFdYupn7E/VRhKItcM6pI/AAAAAAAAfw4/fzHvuD4Ys5Y/s1600/burlotto_4%2Bwines.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>We tasted four Barolo wines from 2011 – the classic Barolo, the Barolo “Acclivi”, the Barolo “Monvigliero” and the Barolo “Cannubi.”<br /><br />The classic Barolo represents a style of Barolo that depends on blending from different vineyards. Now the style is to separate the crus, in fact the new laws in Barolo prohibit a producer from noting those different vineyards on the front label, to support a single cru system. But many of the old-timers still think this is the real identity of Barolo.<br /><br />The “Acclivi” takes that philosophy to another level, in that Fabio and company are taking lots from vineyards in Verduno to promote an expression of Verduno Barolo. Really a hallmark of the winery, and one which after ten years exhibits all the best from Burlotto. <br /><br />The “Monvigliero” is a special wine. You know it when you breathe in the aromas and then taste it. It has something special that marks it as a wine destined for greatness. Open tank fermenter, whole cluster, trod by foot (Fabio is a size 44), minimal intervention. One in our group bought a case. I’d love to see this wine in 20-30 years, although I’m not looking forward to being any older. <br /><br />With all the talk about the 2010 vintage of Barolo, these 2011’s did not disappoint. <br /><br />Finally, the “Cannubi.” <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2012/06/to-cannubi-or-not-to-cannubi.html" target="_blank">Some think Cannubi symbolizes Barolo</a>. It certainly has the history. Burlotto has a small .7 hectare vineyard on the hill. Producers today produce their Cannubi wine with price tags hovering at $100 and more. Burlotto’s is one for the rest of us who don’t have the budget for premium sports cars or wines. It’s a little harder in profile than the Monvigliero, but it’s a great example of what Cannubi can be, or maybe what it used to be.<br /><br />In the chic urban areas of New York and San Francisco, among the somm-sett, Burlotto has something of a cult-status. I know this strikes Fabio as a bit odd, just like it strikes Bob Dylan to be considered a prophet of his generation. But both of these fellows, in the creative process of their life, have been fortunate to have that special magic in which to make our lives better because of their creations. And for that, we all should be grateful.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-artSmSba2S4/VRhJo7mk3sI/AAAAAAAAfwg/48_OZbDT6Cs/s1600/burlotto%2Bwalkway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-artSmSba2S4/VRhJo7mk3sI/AAAAAAAAfwg/48_OZbDT6Cs/s1600/burlotto%2Bwalkway.jpg" height="320" width="318" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: #666666;"><i>Note: a lovely interview/podcast with Fabio by Levi Dalton <a href="https://soundcloud.com/leviopenswine/fabioalessandria" target="_blank">HERE</a> - Recommended</i></span><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-penetrating-magic-of-burlotto.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-6218227743303345701Tue, 24 Mar 2015 06:01:00 +00002015-04-28T08:30:11.795-05:00Why this might be our last Vinitaly in Verona: A Dear Giovanni letter to Veronafiere<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rFVYvWpwLv4/VRD8rdcML6I/AAAAAAAAfoI/ECEZZYBwMJY/s1600/DSC_1486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rFVYvWpwLv4/VRD8rdcML6I/AAAAAAAAfoI/ECEZZYBwMJY/s1600/DSC_1486.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">D</span></span>ear Veronafiere,<br /><br />We have been coming to Verona and Vinitaly since 1967. We have watched it expand over the years and have endured the labor pains of growth along with many other long persevering Italians, as well as people from around the world. But we are seriously considering not coming back to Vinitaly in Verona.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />1) The first day of the fair, Sunday, has become a drunken party for people who have nothing to do with the wine industry. Booths in the Veneto, Trentino/Alto-Adige and Lombardia halls are impossible to navigate with the throngs of people looking to fill their glasses. No spitting, along with with sloppy drunks in abundance. It is impossible to get any business done in those areas on a Sunday.<br /><br />2) The parking scene is still a joke. Tonight we collectively sat in our cars in the parking lot across the street from Veronafiere, with hundreds of vehicles trying to leave and with only one exit. Two hours later we finally got out. Late for our evening appointments, again. Really, how hard is it to get some light rail to go from Veronafiere to other areas around Verona to ease the congestion? Or open two more exits? We’ve only been talking about this for 20 years!<br /><br />3) What is with all the people hanging around the outside of the halls, blocking the doors, and smoking? This is supposed to be a trade show, not a place to light up while waiting for a hooker. And the people who hang on the doors, and then get irritated because one wants to open them to go to another hall? Who is policing the area? No one, that’s who.<br /><br />4) The bathrooms are still, in large part, a disaster. They stink, the floors are urine soaked, and women still don’t have enough stalls that they have to invade the men’s room. How degrading is that to women (and men) who just need to take a pee? This is disgusting.<br /><br />5) You have still not managed to keep some of the halls properly ventilated. How hard is it to put in LED lighting that won’t heat the place up, along with opening windows and preventing the rooms from getting stifling hot?<br /><br />6) Once again, communications within the halls via cell phone, text, messaging and internet, all the different ways we use to communicate in this connected era, these are not possible at Vinitaly. Texts arrive hours later; many of us miss critical communication in order to meet up or change meeting places. Phone calls endlessly are dropped. And trying to access the internet to check on information about a winery or access an app, this is still a huge challenge within the halls of Veronafiere. How can we move our business forward if we cannot use the tools that are essential in today’s world? This is an ongoing scandal and one in which the leadership at Veronafiere have failed, once again, to address.<br /><br />7) Three wineries, friends of ours, had their booths vandalized and wine stolen? How many more that we don’t know about? Was that a coincidence? Or lack of security. #ThisMustStop.<br /><br />Do you want more? We spend our hard-earned money trying to promote the wines of Italy. And Verona and Veronafiere has let us down. We are tired of fighting the selfie-obsessed drunken crowds, the foul toilets, the dank halls and what appears to be incompetence of the highest degree of the management of Veronafiere. We would welcome a change; whether to Milan or even to not come at all. At this point maybe time spent (and money) would be better put to use in visiting the wine suppliers in their well-lit, fresh air, clean water and crowd-free, smoke-free environments. The infrastructure of Veronafiere and Vinitaly appears to have finally crumbled. Really Veronafiere, someone needs to clean the house out of all the inept leadership or risk losing the attention of hundreds of thousands of folks who just want to make the world safer for Italian wine. Where is Luca Zaia when we need him?<br /><br />We love Italy and we love the wine community of Italy. We have many friends of Italian wine business and for many years. We all want a solution more than we want to complain about it, we really do. But Veronafiere, and Vinitaly by association, you have not proven to be capable of finding sustainable solutions. We’re considering to #BoycottVinitaly2016, the 50th anniversary of a show that had good original intentions. But, it appears it doesn't have the will, the vision, and the leadership necessary, to take it to another 50 years.<br /><br />Signed,<br /><br />The Italian wine industry<br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/why-this-might-be-our-last-vinitaly-in.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-2168181558830275513Sat, 21 Mar 2015 06:00:00 +00002015-04-12T10:08:28.147-05:00The Wine to Come: Observations from the Langhe on the First Day of Spring<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gT9tHW1LADE/VQz-D_tiSkI/AAAAAAAAffc/nM1Qjn-qWeE/s1600/European%2Bspace%2Bagency.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gT9tHW1LADE/VQz-D_tiSkI/AAAAAAAAffc/nM1Qjn-qWeE/s1600/European%2Bspace%2Bagency.jpg" height="291" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #666666;">Photo: European Space Agency</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></span> well-dressed group from around the world milling around an open courtyard in the Langhe on this first day of spring. A motion to move inside to the winery for a presentation. Above, the moon, already moving, in a short coup against the sun. Winter, trying one last time to forestall the onslaught of growth of the new season. And so this was the augur of the new day.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />We were all guests of Enrico Scavino and his family. Writers, sommeliers, merchants, neighbors, scientists, all of us in our own way trying to save our worlds from darkness. Inside the lights dimmed and the presentation began.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eLA1614kxpA/VQ0G7JqONvI/AAAAAAAAfgE/hvu7dlvrfjQ/s1600/langhe%2Bcow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eLA1614kxpA/VQ0G7JqONvI/AAAAAAAAfgE/hvu7dlvrfjQ/s1600/langhe%2Bcow.jpg" height="277" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #666666;">Photo: Scavino family archives</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>I was first in this room in 1984, when the revolution that Barolo was to become was in its infancy. Roads barely paved a mere 20 years before; we were in farmland, where a tractor was more prized than a Ferrari. In other parts of the world, in Bordeaux, in Burgundy, in Napa Valley, even in Tuscany, the ascent of wine had begun. But in the Langhe, the farmers were awaiting the end of their eclipse, easing the moon out from in front of the sun.<br /><br />I remember observing my father as he got older and lost some of his fire. He mellowed, and along with it the sentimentality of his perspective on life swelled. When I was 30, I thought it a sign of weakening. As with so many things I thought when young, I was wrong. It was like the grapes on the vine, ripening and readying for the wine to come.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u8sLZF5LeRU/VQz9lbT02WI/AAAAAAAAffU/lI2IraVWMr4/s1600/scavino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u8sLZF5LeRU/VQz9lbT02WI/AAAAAAAAffU/lI2IraVWMr4/s1600/scavino.jpg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div>And so it was as well, I saw a grayer Enrico Scavino than the first time we met in his winery, when his daughters were tiny tots and the Langhe was beginning its long climb.<br /><br />All this seems easy to say now. But the hard truth of it is that many leaves have been pruned from the vines; more than one green harvest has left fruit on the ground. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dmCur7jGSpQ/VQ0G8JEgZSI/AAAAAAAAfgQ/mbXL-xbQdBs/s1600/pouring%2Bthe%2Bwine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dmCur7jGSpQ/VQ0G8JEgZSI/AAAAAAAAfgQ/mbXL-xbQdBs/s1600/pouring%2Bthe%2Bwine.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>The short little man in the green suit, with the bright eyes. How many people has he walked through the halls of his wine school, sending them back into the fields to find their greater destiny? The women, coming up in an age when the rising consciousness of their changing femininity would see them having a greater say in how this land would be tilled, how these grapes would be made and how the new wine would taste. In a flash, much like the moon outside as it struggled to keep the sun in check, the grandmothers, the mothers, and now the daughters, moving the ball forward. And Barolo has never tasted better. In this room one daughter's mother cannot be here today; one man's wife, long passed, can only be here in spirit. And under the screen, showing the slides of a lifetime, a family, and one man, in a white shirt with a blue tie, turns his back to the stage to wipe a tear from his eye. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qCgcAwg9k10/VQ0G7_8jp8I/AAAAAAAAfgI/K5Vp6i_UFRc/s1600/olives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qCgcAwg9k10/VQ0G7_8jp8I/AAAAAAAAfgI/K5Vp6i_UFRc/s1600/olives.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>I wish I could speak more about the many wines we had. And the food from some of the top chefs, all bestowed with heavenly stars from the realm of Michelin. The meal was celestial, with many working under the sun and moon in preparation for this event. And the wines, going back thirty years, some pressed by souls who could not be there in physical form. For like the leaves and the grapes from the green harvest, they have gone back in, tilled by time.<br /><br />And that is the real lord in the room. Time. Which makes the wine mellow. Which makes men cry. And which makes all these moments dearer and dearer as the sun reaches closer to the horizon, in search of other lands, other vines and other wines to come. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O2KGqgFkAwU/VQ0G4SkWryI/AAAAAAAAff8/9cWwW1Aw7R0/s1600/glass%2Bof%2B08.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O2KGqgFkAwU/VQ0G4SkWryI/AAAAAAAAff8/9cWwW1Aw7R0/s1600/glass%2Bof%2B08.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-wine-to-come-observations-from.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-5179034233517572912Wed, 18 Mar 2015 05:00:00 +00002015-03-19T13:40:03.151-05:00"Vineyards Barolo lovers should seek out, without getting bogged down in tar and roses." <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sj3ba-jwsyw/VQj1KQ1uEtI/AAAAAAAAfVc/sRDB3lblEx0/s1600/piedmont%2Bwinery%2Bhands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sj3ba-jwsyw/VQj1KQ1uEtI/AAAAAAAAfVc/sRDB3lblEx0/s1600/piedmont%2Bwinery%2Bhands.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></span>hen I recently took a week off, it was to take time from work so I could get caught up on a few writing projects. One that I am particularly proud of, <a href="http://www.wine-searcher.com/m/2015/03/barolo-s-greatest-vineyards-ranked" target="_blank">Barolo's Greatest Vineyards Ranked</a>, was just published on WineSearcher.com. (<a href="https://twitter.com/WineSearcher/status/577832107701043200" target="_blank">It's circulating quickly on Social Media</a>).<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UMySw4JQgHk/VQsWubNv1fI/AAAAAAAAfbE/yOJKrYsBNUo/s1600/wine%2Bsearcher%2Btweet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UMySw4JQgHk/VQsWubNv1fI/AAAAAAAAfbE/yOJKrYsBNUo/s1600/wine%2Bsearcher%2Btweet.jpg" height="118" width="320" /></a></div>During the process I came to terms with collecting Barolo and how to go about it simply. It’s now my working template for future Barolo acquisitions.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.wine-searcher.com/m/2015/03/barolo-s-greatest-vineyards-ranked" target="_blank">Read about it on WineSearcher.com</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written and photographed by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/italianwineguy-offers-vineyards-barolo.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-1448553205237323813Sun, 15 Mar 2015 15:35:00 +00002015-03-16T18:13:19.183-05:00"Venice was the Dubai of the 13th Century"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--DOHdNAZrus/VQWlaPt6BBI/AAAAAAAAfQ0/UWYNkfZ6Pp4/s1600/venice%2Bgrand%2Bcanal%2Bby%2Bnight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--DOHdNAZrus/VQWlaPt6BBI/AAAAAAAAfQ0/UWYNkfZ6Pp4/s1600/venice%2Bgrand%2Bcanal%2Bby%2Bnight.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span></span>n a nippy winter night, while having a quiet meal in a dining room in Venice overlooking the Grand Canal, the subject of Dubai arose. A city of two million souls in the United Arab Emirates, Dubai is something of a fantasy, a miracle and a conundrum. Without a doubt, it has captured the imagination of many Italians I work with. <br /><br />Around our table that evening, the Italians likened Dubai to another city that has, over many hundreds of years, also enchanted many a traveler. At our perch, in the still of a winter night, it taxed the imagination to draw parallels between Venice and Dubai. Perhaps it was the wine, or that we had all had a long day. But upon further conversation, the notion that Venice was the Dubai of the 13th Century was parsed, aided by further bottles of wine.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vElX19qkAZE/VQWlbZW06KI/AAAAAAAAfQ8/3CRCZ2gw4JU/s1600/venice%2Bwater%2Bscene%2Bwith%2Bwall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vElX19qkAZE/VQWlbZW06KI/AAAAAAAAfQ8/3CRCZ2gw4JU/s1600/venice%2Bwater%2Bscene%2Bwith%2Bwall.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>Having never been to Dubai, but aided by the facility of the internet, one can imagine many things happening in that mirage of a city. My interest in Venice, though, and for many of us who love Italy and her wines, had me thinking on my walk back to the hotel room in the light fog that had settled so very late at night. <br /><br />This little jewel, with its maze of paths, many different ways to get to one place, how many times have the DNA in these bones trod upon them? Why does Venice compel one to think about things that haven’t been thought about, or maybe things long forgotten? How does this figure into a life of wine? <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2ZpTgHoT69U/VQWlMDrEO5I/AAAAAAAAfQc/DUYM0kyVDnw/s1600/guggenheim_sculpture%2Bscene%2Bwith%2Bvenice%2Bin%2Bbackground.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2ZpTgHoT69U/VQWlMDrEO5I/AAAAAAAAfQc/DUYM0kyVDnw/s1600/guggenheim_sculpture%2Bscene%2Bwith%2Bvenice%2Bin%2Bbackground.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>Put aside that we are in an urban area, albeit a restricted one, and actually one in which time has frozen it. For a moment, allow your imagination to see a place without the daylight hordes of tourists. Let’s just walk around in this little fog of imagination, this Venice, cleansed by the water that imprisons it.<br /><br />For both places, trade is important. While there might not be a reason for one to go to Dubai, trade has made it a modern crossroads. Venice was not so isolated, although the difficulty of travel made getting around more challenging than in the modern day. But the water made it possible. From Venice, adventurers would launch their voyages and pursue their dreams, bringing them back to this little dew-drop of a city. Treasures found on the other side of the world would be traded all over the Italian peninsula. Trade was the satchel the visionaries put their dreams in. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uF4A2HarF4g/VQWlZBkP_fI/AAAAAAAAfQk/lHTvyITuiyA/s1600/bird%2Bin%2Bvenice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uF4A2HarF4g/VQWlZBkP_fI/AAAAAAAAfQk/lHTvyITuiyA/s1600/bird%2Bin%2Bvenice.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>For winemakers across and down the peninsula, Venice was an important trading post. How fitting, all these hundreds of years later, that next week thousands of us will reconvene in the Veneto, inland from Venice, to spend days in the act of trade, with wine is at the center of it all. And while Venice isn’t as large a part of the conversation as it once was, for some of us who look at things in the light of history, can she ever be that far away? In no small part, we owe a great debt to Venice for the foundation that was prepared for wine in these times. Deep inside the marrow of my bones, as I walk the many pavilions at Vinitaly, I cannot but help to think about the possibility that my forbearers lighten my step as they trod along with me, from booth to booth, seeking something fine from wine to share with the outside world. It’s thrilling to take this idea. I know I will lose the realists ( lost them long ago, I reckon), but those who are still with me, feeling the mist, the cool breeze from the Adriatic, the slippery cobblestones below. We walk the path with Corvina, with Glera, with all the hundreds of natives and newcomers in this brief assembly.<br /><br />Yes, I imagine Dubai has superseded anyone’s imagination of a shining city of the future. And yes, Venice is now part of a history that no longer is as vital. Except those of us for whom those memories are real, flesh and bone and for whom telling the story of Italian wine is still very much alive and moving forward.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HmQOvB4vJu4/VQWlZA6P-yI/AAAAAAAAfQo/YqrHs_j-R1Q/s1600/venice%2Bfrom%2Bperch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HmQOvB4vJu4/VQWlZA6P-yI/AAAAAAAAfQo/YqrHs_j-R1Q/s1600/venice%2Bfrom%2Bperch.jpg" height="267" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written (and photographed in Venice) by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/venice-was-dubai-of-13th-century.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20283310.post-8131053646849631826Tue, 10 Mar 2015 12:39:00 +00002015-03-11T23:09:17.250-05:00On the Wine Trail in Italy in other places – Solid advice for Italians looking to enter the US market and a primer on Italian wine for young sommeliers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JEqnUXb9v1I/VP7kq9Afy4I/AAAAAAAAfI4/kdTu8txR0Mg/s1600/DSC_6357%2Bsm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JEqnUXb9v1I/VP7kq9Afy4I/AAAAAAAAfI4/kdTu8txR0Mg/s1600/DSC_6357%2Bsm.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span>n the almost ten years that I have been writing this blog, there has been, more or less, a natural development of it. My blog voice, I’ve been told, has a tendency to be idealistic and often somewhere in the cloud between reality and “the way I really want it to be.” I realize some folks actually come here, from time to time, for solid information. So, let me share several pieces that might help those who are looking for those things.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FmLSQpEOVJc/VP7krluxqyI/AAAAAAAAfJA/bz3UFRHKldg/s1600/DSC_6365sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FmLSQpEOVJc/VP7krluxqyI/AAAAAAAAfJA/bz3UFRHKldg/s1600/DSC_6365sm.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>Earlier in the winter Wine Meridien published an interview with me, in Italian and English, <a href="http://www.winemeridian.com/news_it/usa_e_sulla_strada_che_si_fanno_gli_affari_526.html" target="_blank">USA: è sulla strada che si fanno gli affari</a> (English site: <a href="http://www.winemeridian.com/news_en/usa_learn_to_love_the_road_because_it_is_on_the_road_where_all_of_this_grows_and_flourishes_527.html" target="_blank">Learn to love the road</a>). With Prowein and Vinitaly approaching, and with a more than inordinate amount of pitch email coming to my inbox lately, this is a good piece for folks looking to enter the USA wine market. It isn’t easy, hell, it isn’t often pretty. And sometimes it’s both at the same time, like Sunday, when I drove 4½ hours home after being away all week, unloaded the car, unpacked, did laundry, re-packed and 8 hours later at 6:30 AM got back into the car to drive 4½ hours in pounding rain (the whole time) to lead a seminar of rain soaked wine professionals about Italian wine. If I wasn’t tired from my Monday, the last sentence really wore me out. Anyway… read it and weep.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CgNMxR5KmuI/VP7krGPRnhI/AAAAAAAAfI8/zp4Dn7fVStw/s1600/DSC_6386sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CgNMxR5KmuI/VP7krGPRnhI/AAAAAAAAfI8/zp4Dn7fVStw/s1600/DSC_6386sm.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>For Italian wine professionals or just folks who are hopeful to learn more about Italian wine and are just starting out, there is a piece on the Guild of Sommeliers site that I contributed,<a href="http://www.guildsomm.com/TC/stay_current/features/b/alfonso_cevola/archive/2015/03/04/la-torre-of-babel-deciphering-italy" target="_blank"> La Torre of Babel: Deciphering Italy</a>. This was not an easy piece to write. For one, it is not an easy subject to distill in 1500 words (there are books written about the subject). But I also saw this as a writing exercise and wrote and wrote and rewrote and rewrote this piece many times. Actually I wrote three totally different pieces until getting to the one that worked. I’m proud of the final result and Geoff Kruth and his fine team at the Guild is spreading the word to their followers. Thanks Geoff (and Matt and Kassandra).<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMfgrIKT99A/VP7kss3jg0I/AAAAAAAAfJI/6EoWrWhhlhs/s1600/DSC_6521sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMfgrIKT99A/VP7kss3jg0I/AAAAAAAAfJI/6EoWrWhhlhs/s1600/DSC_6521sm.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>There you have it… Vinitaly is next week. Finally, if you’re going, please remember to read my groundbreaking piece on <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2012/11/first-timers-guide-to-finding-best.html" target="_blank">where to find the best bathrooms at Vinitaly</a>. Believe me, you will thank me later. I should probably do one about Vinexpo, but I fear that is a lost cause. Nevermind. If you are going to Vinitaly, have fun. I’ll see you on there.<br /><br />Links:<br /><br />Wine Meridien interview: <a href="http://www.winemeridian.com/news_it/usa_e_sulla_strada_che_si_fanno_gli_affari_526.html" target="_blank">USA: è sulla strada che si fanno gli affair</a> (English site: <a href="http://www.winemeridian.com/news_en/usa_learn_to_love_the_road_because_it_is_on_the_road_where_all_of_this_grows_and_flourishes_527.html" target="_blank">Learn to love the road</a>)<br /><br />The Guild of Sommeliers <a href="http://www.guildsomm.com/TC/stay_current/features/b/alfonso_cevola/archive/2015/03/04/la-torre-of-babel-deciphering-italy" target="_blank">La Torre of Babel: Deciphering Italy</a><br /><br /><a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/2012/11/first-timers-guide-to-finding-best.html" target="_blank">First-Timer's Guide to finding the best bathrooms at Vinitaly</a> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="by-line"><span style="font-size: small;">written by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16983431475848714789">Alfonso Cevola</a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> limited rights reserved <a href="http://acevola.blogspot.com/">On the Wine Trail in Italy</a></span> </div><div style="color: white;">wine blog +&nbsp; Italian wine blog + Italy W</div>http://acevola.blogspot.com/2015/03/on-wine-trail-in-italy-in-other-places.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Alfonso Cevola)0